


The Red Dime

by Caruscus



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Cockwarming, Daniel Craig - Freeform, F/M, I want them to get together quick but unfortunately I won't be able to write it like that, I'm pretty sure daniel craig wasn't yet 50 when they filmed this, Jealousy, Knives Out (2019) Spoilers, Murder, Murder Mystery, Not too much, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, also benoit is going to be a few years younger in this, and I want to write a story about Benoit Blanc, bc that southern accent did things to me, but not too much, doesn't happen until basically the end so, hence the slowburn, i should add that, is a hotty, like very slow, poorly written smut, so just pretend with me, so many tags yeesh, this is my first reader x fic so go easy on me, younger-ish anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 140,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caruscus/pseuds/Caruscus
Summary: Knives Out (2019) retold featuring a new character: you.A friend of Marta's from her school days, she got you a job working for Harlan Thrombey a few months after she started there. Though you had a full-time job somewhere else, you still enjoyed 'working' the evenings with Harlan and Marta. Though by the time of Harlan's 85th birthday party you could hardly consider it a real job anymore.Tragedy strikes when Harlan suddenly commits suicide. Marta is left shaking, you're devastated, the family is turning on one another and this mysterious detective refuses to leave the grieving group of people alone. Will he help to sort things out or will he just make them worse?
Relationships: Benoit Blanc (Knives Out)/Reader, Benoit Blanc (Knives Out)/You
Comments: 169
Kudos: 667





	1. A Birthday Party

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! People who follow me are probably thinking 'finish your other story!!!!' and I have to say I SHOULD be doing that but I just finished watching Knives Out for the second time and I can't STOP THINKING ABOUT BENOIT BLANC. So, I'm at least getting this idea started so that when I do eventually finish my other story I won't have forgotten this one. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and if I should even continue?? If this story gets enough interest then I will divest my time better between BTTF and this one.

"Marta, Marta! Come over here!" 

You roll your eyes, covering the action by taking a sip of your champagne. Marta pauses in the middle of her sentence, eyes widening as Richard calls for your friend to join in on their political conversation. For some reason the fact that Richard would want Marta just _now,_ when they're talking about immigration, to join in on their conversation makes you want to leave the party. But you swallow the diluted alcohol and bear it, knowing that you're there for Harlan and wouldn't dare leave before they even cut his cake. 

Marta walks over to stand in front of the fireplace, paying attention as Richard starts talking about how her family was obeying the law because even though they were immigrants they at least came over _"legally."_

You grimace at that. It's a secret that very few people in this house knew--you, Harlan, and Meg being the exceptions--that Marta's mother was an undocumented immigrant. Had Richard known that, he probably wouldn't be making the backhanded compliments to your friend that he is now. 

_"I'm warning you!"_

You stiffen at the muffled exclamation coming from Harlan's office, glancing back just in time to see none other than Ransom Drysdale open the door, grab his jacket off a nearby chair and storm out of the house. You look back to Harlan's office in surprise, wondering what all that was about.

The Thrombey's are good people, though they do have a few faults of their own. But then again, what person doesn't? You certainly have your own. Harlan's last living son, Walt, is a nice man with an...interesting family. Donna, his wife, is jumpy with a meek determination when she wants. Their son is an asshole. You've barely seen him since the party's started, having noticed him slip into the bathroom at one point and then not seeing him again.

Joni, the wife of Harlan's late son, has been glued to the family ever since she married into it. Meg, her daughter, has a part to do with that. Meg is a sweet girl studying in college right now, and it's because she's such a sweet person that Marta shared the truth about her mother in the first place. Her mother seems like a 'free spirit' kind of person, but you don't get too close to her. She's constantly trying to get you to invest in her skincare line, saying that it would do wonders for your face. You tried not to take offense the first time she brought that up, considering you were not even thirty yet at the time and didn't have a single wrinkle in sight. 

Richard, a man whose infidelity is still a secret to the family, at least pretends to care and be interested in other people's lives. His wife, Linda, is a strong and independent woman who is a person to look up to for women everywhere. She can come off as cold, but she doesn't mean anything by it. You know that's just her way of expressing affection. You've seen her be truly nasty with people and know that to be on the receiving end of that would be terrifying.

And then there's Ransom. The son of Linda and Richard, he's just a few years older than you and yet acts like a child most of the time. This isn't the first time you've heard about the two of them having a spat, but this _is_ the first time you've witnessed it. For a while, there was a time when you thought that Ransom was a very good looking man and even questioned the possibility of you two, but after hearing from Harlan about the things his grandson had been doing you decided against it. Ransom was bad news, and you didn't want to get tangled up in that. It's a shame because he is a good looking man. You've seen moments where he seemed like a decent person, but then he would say and do things like his father, and you knew you could never be with someone like that. 

Not someone who makes " _the help"_ call him by his first name, though he tells everyone else to call him Ransom. A very prick move indeed. 

Finding Marta still occupied with the rest of the Thrombey's, you set your champagne down on a stand and slowly walk over to Harlan's office. The fact that he's still in there, even after Ransom left a few minutes ago, makes you worry. His grandson didn't say anything to upset him on his birthday, did he? 

You knock gently on the wooden door, gaining Harlan's attention. He motions for you to enter, and so you do and make your way to your usual seat across from his desk. You and Harlan have had many talks in here, ranging from ideas for his books to personal lives to philosophical topics. 

Though Marta went to school for nursing, you went for psychology. The two of you met in a general education class almost eleven years ago and have been friends ever since. Harlan doesn't have the best opinion when it comes to psychologists, but after Marta introduced you to him, you somehow managed to weasel your way into the older man's heart. It's why you continue to come over in the evenings even though you no longer need the extra money from him. You were his caretaker, alongside Marta, for almost two years before you got a job at a local practice. You told him to stop paying you, but for some reason, there was always a small sum of money that randomly ended up in your bank account at the end of each month. You confronted him about it once, but he merely gave you a knowing grin and denied having anything to do with it. 

_"Whoever is doing it must want to do something nice for you. It's just money, Y/N. Take it."_

So you did. But you always made sure to spend that money on things to do with Harlan. Whether it was a new game, new books or art pieces, or even some tiny writing tools you thought might help him with his books. He was basically buying gifts for himself, and you both knew it, but he didn't say any more on it. You wouldn't budge any more than you knew he would. 

Being a psychologist also helped him get a sense of the main antagonists in his books, allowing him the chance to look at a viewpoint he might not have otherwise thought of. You quickly proved yourself to Harlan after you started working for him, and it wasn't long before you and Marta were close with him. 

At times you were closer with him than his actual family. 

"Ransom left in a rush," you say softly, letting him choose to elaborate on it or dismiss it. That was one of the things Harlan enjoys the most about your company. You knew when to pry and when to mind your own business. 

Harlan lets out a sigh, fumbling with his baseball agitatedly. The ball is no longer a clean white and instead now a dull yellow, brought on from age and continuous messing with like he's doing now. 

"I did it. I told him."

You lean back in your chair with understanding. You calmly cross one leg on top of the other and fold your hands in your lap, nodding. You came here directly from work, still dressed in your purple blouse and black dress pants. The heels you're wearing aren't comfortable in the slightest, but they at least complement the outfit and make it appropriate for a party such as this one. You can't help but be jealous of Marta, that she's dressed a little more casually and obviously comfortable. 

_"I'm technically working,"_ she had said as an excuse, though she was smiling when she said it. 

"Was he the last one?"

Harlan shakes his head once. "He was the first. I spoke with Joni earlier today, about Meg's college money."

You hum, nodding your head. Harlan had been paying for Meg's college for the last four years and only recently found out that Joni had been taking it for herself. He told Marta and you that he was cutting her off. You felt bad because it wasn't Meg's fault, but this would be a good lesson for Joni. Maybe now she'll start taking things seriously. 

"And I told Walt that he was done with Blood Like Wine. But I didn't tell them I cut them out of the will. They don't know that--none except for Ransom."

You frown. This can't be easy for him to do, especially on his birthday. A day that's supposed to be celebrated and filled with lighthearted fun--not anger and frustration. 

"You don't have to tell them today, Harlan," You remind him gently. You had this conversation with him last time you saw him, two days ago. He was adamant, however, because his family would all be together and he didn't know when he'd have another chance like this. "You're allowed to enjoy one day with your family. You know that, right?"

He fiddles with the baseball for another few seconds before placing it back in the holder on his desk. "I suppose you're right, Y/N. The rest can wait until tomorrow." He mock-shakes his fist at you. "I thought I told you to stay out of my head?"

You smile at him, standing to my feet and walking around the desk to his side. You lean down and give him a hug. "It's my job to get _into_ your head." You pat his back and then step back, pulling a small box out of your pocket. 

He raises a brow as you place it on his desk in front of him. "What's this?"

You laugh softly. "You have to open it to find out."

He scoffs but reaches down and picks up the tiny box, pulling on the ribbon and ripping the paper off. It reveals a rectangular black box, only a little wider than a ruler and less than ten inches long. He lifts the top off and sets it to the side, revealing the tiny yet meaningful gift you had ordered for him a few weeks prior. 

"Y/N..." he trails off, reaching in and gently picking up the customized one-of-a-kind pen you designed. 

Harlan, for the most part, was old fashioned in all aspects of the word. He writes down the ideas for his stories in a tiny notebook that he carries around in his breast pocket, and most of the time prefers to type up drafts on a type-writer. When looking for a gift for him you stumbled across this idea and knew it would be perfect. Harlan doesn't care about size--he has the money to buy anything he would really want--he cares about the thought behind the gift. 

The pen is light, only a few ounces, and dark silver. It's filled with genuine ink similar to those used in quill pens and comes with three refill cartridges. You had engraved on the side the words _my pen, my ideas, my books,_ and then just below that, _Harlan Thrombey._ You thought it would be nice to give him something similar to his favorite coffee mug. 

He grins as he brushes a finger over the engravings, holding it delicately in his hand. You can't control your smile as you watch him inspect your gift. 

"This is gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful."

"It's just a pen." You try to play it off, but your chest warms at his obvious joy. 

"Just a pen?" He questions, glancing up at you. "No, miss, this is not just a pen. This is Harlan Thrombey's pen. The best pen in all of the world."

You laugh at that, pulling out the box that comes with it containing the extra ink. He chuckles and reaches into his desk, pulling out a blank piece of paper and beginning to write on it. He makes a sound of delight as the pen glides across the paper, making a smooth and dark line against the white background. 

"Gorgeous," he declares, signing his name with a flourish, "absolutely gorgeous. I couldn't have asked for anything better."

You lay your hand on his shoulder and give him a soft smile. "I'm glad. Marta helped me pick what to put on it."

He shakes his head with a smile. "I should have known you two girls would think of something like this."

_"Dad!"_ Linda's voice drifts into the office. _"We're going to bring out the cake!"_

Harlan sighs, slipping the pen back into the box. He unlocks the drawer in his desk and puts it inside carefully, along with the extra ink. You step back to allow him to stand to his feet and together the two of you go back out into the dining room. 

"Ah, Y/N, would you be a dear and go grab some extra plates?" Richard asks when you walk into the room while barely sparing you a glance. Harlan frowns at him but you hold up a hand, not wanting him to say anything. You didn't want anyone to start a fight on Harlan's birthday. Marta throws you a sympathetic look since she had been handed his empty glass earlier in the night. 

Shortly after everyone has finished singing to Harlan and enjoyed a slice of cake, the party starts to wind down. As it gets closer to midnight Marta and Harlan make their way up to his bedroom. You follow them, trying your best to help usher Harlan along so that Marta can get home quickly. 

"We are playing it, _on my birthday."_ Harlan stomps his foot like a child, causing Marta to roll her eyes and you to laugh. Every night the three of you would take turns playing Go before bed since it was one of Harlan's favorite strategy games. 

"I've had champagne and _need to get home,"_ Marta complains, but you can already see that she's going to cave. Harlan waves his hand and instead of going into his room he goes up the next flight of stairs to his study. You follow along behind while Marta grabs her medical bag from his bedroom. 

"We'll play one round each," you acquiesce, giving Marta a look to tell her to just go along with it. It is Harlan's birthday after all. 

Harlan frowns and holds his hands up crookedly. "It's because I'm getting _old,_ isn't it? You turn 85 and suddenly nobody wants to play Go with you anymore."

Marta chuckles. "No, it's midnight and people are tired. One round, Harlan."

"Two rounds for me, one for you," he corrects her. She shakes her head and busies herself tidying up the small room while you get the pieces ready. 

"How come," Harlan begins as you both take turns laying your black and white pieces on the board, "I can never beat you two?"

"You can," you tell him as you succeed in trapping his piece in a circle, "but when you don't win you're a sore loser so that's more memorable than winning."

He pauses, throwing you a dirty look. "Remind me again why I let you in here?"

"Because your life would be boring otherwise." You smirk at him, tapping the side of your head before placing down your last chip. It's clear you've won the game and Harlan sits there, pouting like he always does. 

You stand up to your feet, allowing Marta to take your place after she sets his bottles of medicine off to the side to give to him later on. 

"I have to get going," you say as you pick up your coat that you discarded by the door, "I have a client coming to my office at 9:30 tomorrow morning, so I have to be there by 8:30. He always shows up early." You walk around and give Harlan a tight hug from behind. He reaches his hands up and hugs you back. You place a quick kiss to the top of his head and stand up, giving Marta a hug goodbye as well. "Happy birthday, Harlan."

Harlan finally cracks on his faux-stern gaze, waving his hand and smiling softly. "Same time next year?"

You grin back, nodding your head. "Of course. It's already marked in my calendar."

His smile widens. "What would my birthday be without you two girls there at my side?"

Your heart warms at his words. You never would have thought that you'd find a friend like Harlan at this point in your life, but you're forever thankful you did. "Goodnight, guys." You give them one last smile.

"Goodnight."

"Night!"

You step out of the study and shut the door behind you before heading down the stairs. You say goodbye to the remaining family members that you see, nodding at Walt when you pass him by on the porch. Unlocking your not quite new but not quite old car, you slip in and crank the heat before pulling out of the driveway. Besides the Harlan telling the family he was cutting them off, Ransom storming out in a huff and the remarks made by Richard that weren't quite right, tonight was a good night, and you know that Harlan still enjoyed it. 

You let out a large yawn, looking forward to crawling into the bed of your tiny apartment and going to sleep. You should be able to get at least seven hours which will be enough to get you through your meeting with your client, and then you'll have the rest of the day to look forward to. 

* * *

"--and then when you see me next week we can discuss how that went, okay?" You make a few notes in your journal, giving Jamie time to answer you.

Jamie, being a man just a few years older than yourself, had been seeing you for the past year about some anxiety issues. He has a big job interview coming up which has been stressing him out, so he's been scheduling more and more meetings with you as early as possible. This one would have been at 8am instead of 8:30, but you purposefully told him 9:30 because you a) knew he'd show up early and b) you would need the extra sleep.

Jamie nods, twisting his hands in his lap nervously. You stand when he does and follow him out the door, leading him to the receptionist so he can make another appointment. You don't have your own practice, not yet, but the one you do work at is still small and so there's only a total of 5 people you work with on a daily basis. 

"Y/N! Y/N!" You turn at the frantic calling of your name, seeing Theresa, the other receptionist here, running up to you as fast as her heels will allow her. She looks frantic and the worry on her face only makes your stomach twist. 

"What?" You ask, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her still as she catches her breath. "What's wrong?"

She pulls out her phone and types something before holding it up for you to see. You take it from her to get a closer look. Once you read the headline on the top of the page, your blood turns to ice and your head becomes light. 

_Distinguished Write Harlan Thrombey Commits_ _Suicide_

"Y/N, you look pale. Sit down, okay? I'll get you something to drink."

In the back of your mind you feel Theresa help you over to a chair where you sit down shakily. Your eyes roam over the article, skimming it while not really reading it at the same time. 

_...slit his throat..._

_...discovered this morning by the housekeeper, Fran..._

_...just celebrated his 85th birthday with loved ones the day_ _before..._

Harlan's gone. _He killed himself._

When Theresa returns with a glass of water you're sobbing before she can even speak.

Your friend is dead.


	2. A Small Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annddd chapter 2! This is so hard for me to write in 2nd person point of view but I'm trying. I have an idea of where to go with this story and I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you for the kudos! <3

_One week later_

"How did your interview go?" 

Jamie smooths out his shirt, giving you a hesitant yet genuine smile. "It went...good. Really good." 

You nod at him, making a note about his current reaction this week versus how he was acting last week. "I'm glad to hear that. Did you have any problems when they were asking you questions? Any worries?"

He shakes his head, looking off to the side for a second. He opens his mouth to say something more when your phone starts buzzing on the table, interrupting him. 

You look down with a frown, irritated that someone was calling you right now. You know that your closest friends are aware of your work schedule so for someone to be calling you it must be someone new.

_Incoming call from Meg Thrombey_

Your frown deepens. _Meg?_

"Sorry, Jamie," you pick up the phone and stand, walking over to the door, "this will only take a minute."

He nods and you slip out of your office into the hall. You swipe the screen and lift the phone, an anxious ball forming in your stomach as the many possibilities for this call runs through your head. 

"Hello?"

_"Y/N, hey."_

"Hi?" You can't help but feel a little confused. "Is something wrong?"

Meg sighs. _"The family...we need you to come back to the house. The police are back and want to ask some more questions."_

You bite your tongue. _They want to ask more questions?_

"About what?" Your voice thickens with emotion. "About Harlan's death? I thought we already went over this?"

_"We did, but they're insisting on asking everyone what happened again. I don't know, they just asked me to call you. Can you come over soon?"_

You can hear how this is upsetting Meg, which angers you. What could the police possibly need to question you on? Harlan committed suicide a week ago. You were distraught and even though you weren't able to go to the funeral for proper closure, you've decided to continue on and try to cope in the only way you know how: throwing yourself into your job. 

"Of course, yes. I'll be there, I just need to finish up with a client. I'll see you soon, okay?" 

Meg sighs. _"Okay, thanks Y/N. Talk to you soon."_

You hang up and lean back against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. The day after Harlan's death was made aware to the public you, Marta and the entire family were questioned about that night. In the end, it was ruled a suicide, and you haven't spoken to any of them since. You tried connecting with Marta for a few days after to see how she was doing, but she ignored your calls and texts. 

Three days later she responded to one of your texts but it didn't give you any good indication as to how she was doing. 

_Sorry I haven't stayed in touch. Been spending time with my family. I'll call you later, okay?_

And now, one week after Harlan's party, you're going back to his house and are going to see all of them again. Your heart begins to beat faster in your chest as you think of what you might run into. Crying? Rude police officers? You can handle people and their emotions--it's one of the reasons why you're so good at your job--but it's your own reaction you're scared of. 

Jamie looks up at you, still seated on the couch, as you slip back into your office. You give him an apologetic smile as you sit back down. 

"Jamie, I'm so sorry, but I have to cut our meeting short. There's a problem that I need to deal with that, unfortunately, I can't wait until later to deal with it. Can I call you in a few days to reschedule?"

Jamie nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah, that's fine." He looks a little sheepish suddenly. "Is it...is it about that writer?"

Your smile thins. "In part, yes. I'll have Theresa call you?"

He nods and then with one last shake of your hand he leaves your office. You lean back in your chair a little unprofessionally and blow out a breath. This is going to be fun. 

* * *

You shut the door to your car and snuggle deeper into your scarf to try to block out the frigid air. It's late fall but it already feels like you're deep into the winter season. There are two police cars already parked outside the front of the house, along with what you know to be Marta's car. She's already here. 

Harlan's two dogs come up to you, tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths and tails wagging furiously. You feel yourself relax a little bit and you reach down, petting the both of them. They follow you up the steps to the front of the house but then turn and take off down the front lawn. You knock on the door, shoving your hands in your pockets in an effort to keep them warm. 

Linda opens the door, flashing you a brief smile. "Hey honey," she pulls you in for a quick hug before stepping back to let you inside, "sorry about this. I think it's unnecessary."

"Me too," you mutter, unwinding your scarf and hanging it up with your coat. "How is everyone?" 

"Not in need of your services quite yet," she jokes, though her smile is brittle. "I wish you could have come to the funeral. I was outvoted."

You nod your head. "It's okay." _No, it's not._

The two of you walk into the entryway, and there you find two men with long overcoats standing and conversing quietly with the other. They glance at you when you walk in, nodding their heads in greeting. 

"Hello, you must be Y/N."

"It's actually Dr. L/N." Linda corrects the man on the right. His pale skin and dark hair remind you of a vampire. 

"Doctor?" His partner questions, his brown eyes just a few shades lighter than his skin. He has a calm aura about him that immediately puts you at ease. "What kind?"

"Psychologist." You answer.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you Dr. L/N. I'm Lieutenant Elliot and this is Trooper Wagner." He gestures to the man behind him. "What we're going to do is bring you in one at a time to ask questions, so if you can all just sit out here while we do this--"

"I'll just go first, that way we can get this over with." Linda interrupts him, throwing her hands up and brushing past to walk into the library. The two men glance at each other before following after her. 

You sigh, walking further into the house and to the hall. You stop when you see Marta sitting there, her leg bouncing faster than a speeding train and eyes unfocused on the wall in front of her. 

"Marta?"

Her head whips over to you like you broke her out of a trance. She slumps in her seat, face dropping as she stands and walks over to you. You embrace her and she does the same just as tightly, this being the first time the two of you have seen each other since that night. It's the first time in a long time that you've gone so long without seeing each other every day.

"I'm so sorry I haven't called, I've just been so busy--" Marta mumbles into your shirt.

"Shh," You shush her, "it's okay. I understand. Trust me, I understand more than most people."

She laughs weakly at that. "I know."

"How are you doing?" You ask gently, pulling away a little and leading her back over to where she had been previously seated. "Have you spoken with the police yet?"

She shakes her head. "No, I got here a little before you did. I'm...okay." She looks down at the floor. "I miss him, Y/N."

"Me too," you whisper, "it's not the same being in this house without him here."

"Having you here helps."

You smile at that, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and rubbing it comfortingly. It helps to have her here as well. You know that together the two of you can get through anything.

* * *

An hour later and the Lieutenant has yet to get to either you or Marta. You've used the time to catch up on what you've been doing the past week, how you were coping and how Marta's family was doing. You made a mental note to stop in soon to visit with her mother and Alice--they're such nice people. 

Joni suddenly walks out of the library, right past the two of you and towards the kitchen. The police don't come out after them so they must not be ready for you two yet. You sigh, rubbing your hands together and crossing your legs. Maybe it would have been better if you had changed into more comfortable clothes, but the skirt and heels were your customary work uniform--not that you really had one, but you preferred to look professional. 

"Wonder what has her in a twist?"

Marta thins her lips and shakes her head. You don't make any indication that you've noticed, but she's acting differently. Not much, but enough for someone like you to notice. You've known her long enough to have picked up on her quirks and when she's acting off. 

You go to say something else when voices sound from the other side of the wall. You and Marta look out onto the porch where you see three figures through the stained glass. Marta casts you a side glance before sneaking over to the window and pressing her ear to the window in an effort to listen in. 

"Marta!" You hiss, surprised by her actions. She places a finger to her lips and continues to listen in. You bite your lip, knowing that it's wrong but also painfully curious yourself. You end up crouching in front of her and also listening in, trying to make out the words.

_"--is a pleasant family with the usual quarrels but no possible motive for murder...where are you going?"_

You and Marta frown at each other. A sudden shadow falls over your little piece of the window and you look over with a gasp, finding an eye staring back at you. You and Marta stand up as the door to the porch opens up, revealing not Lieutenant Elliot or Trooper Wagner, but another man entirely. 

He's older, with blond hair that seems to be getting an almost gray tint to it. His face is clean-shaven and his eyes are a crystal blue, the intensity behind them stealing your breath. He's a few inches taller than you and is dressed in a suit and tie with a brown overcoat on. He has a cigar held loosely between two fingers and the other is holding the door open as he smiles politely at you and Marta. 

He's... _attractive._ He looks like he's at least ten years older than you, but you can see the strength and youth in his body though he doesn't seem to broadcast it. 

Woah. You haven't been so thrown off guard by a man like this since your ex-boyfriend from college. Douchebag that _he_ was, this man seems nothing like him. 

You and Marta step back but he gives a warm nod and gestures the two of you forward.

He looks at Marta first, sizing her up. "Harlan Thrombey's nurse, Marta..." he trails off, and you're caught off guard by his gentle southern accent. What's he doing so far north? 

"...Cabrera." She finishes, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands. It's chilly out here and our coats are inside. 

He nods at that. "Marta Cabrera." He turns to you, giving you a look over in the same way that he did Marta. It's not done in a perverted way, but in a way you would do if you're trying to figure out a person's entire life in one glance. "And you must be the doctor?'

You frown, hugging yourself as you begin to feel goosebumps break out over your skin. "Yes, but not for Harlan. I was simply his friend. I'm Dr. L/N, but you can call me Y/N."

He nods, lifting his cigar and taking a puff before pacing over to the couch. 

"Ladies, you can just wait inside--we'll be with you soon." Trooper Wagner tries to usher us back inside but this man completely ignores us and steps in front of him. 

"Miss Cabrera, I been doin' a little pokin', you're hired on a part-time basis as a registered nurse, yes?"

"Sorry," you step in front of Marta protectively, "I understand that these two men over here are law enforcement but who are you?"

The man puts the cigar down on the ashtray and frowns. "My apologies, I never introduced myself. The name is Detective Benoit Blanc. I'm here at the behest of a client." 

"Benoit?" You question. "You're French?"

Blanc's mouth quirks up into a smirk. "Only partially. My mother was French."

_He's a detective? Why is he here?_

"He's not with the police department but he's offered to consult and I've obliged." Lieutenant Elliot vouches for the man, nodding at him. 

"Okay." You say, stepping to the side so Marta can step forward.

She gives you a nervous smile. "Yeah, I don't work for the VNA. Harlan hired me directly."

"You're paid a flat rate for how many hours a week?" 

"I started at 15, but slowly he...needed more help."

"Medical help?"

Marta glances over at you. "He needed a friend."

Blanc glances between the two of you with a gentle smile. "Does having a kind heart make you a good nurse?"

"Blanc." Lieutenant Elliot interrupts him with a shake of his head. 

"Yes." He dismisses the Lieutenant and continues. "Marta, we were just discussing possible motives in the family."

"Motives?" You question with wide eyes. "You think someone murdered Harlan?"

"We're just investigating each possibility." Lieutenant Elliot holds up a hand. "Harlan committed suicide. We're just gathering all the information."

"I suspect Harlan has told you both much-unfiltered truth about each of them, and a little bird has told me..." Blanc frowns as he sits in the chair by the coffee table, "...you have a regurgitive reaction to mistruthin'?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Who told you that?"

Blanc glances at you briefly before turning back to Marta. "Is it true?"

You and Marta walk over and sit on the love seat across from him. "Yes. It's something that I have had as a kid. It's a physical thing that I...I...just the thought of lying, yeah, it makes me puke."

"Really?" Detective Blanc turns his attention over to you. "And do you share this trait, Y/N?"

You narrow your eyes. "No, usually I can tell when people are lying."

He leans back in his chair in surprise. "Truly?"

You nod. 

He leans forward once more and focuses on Marta. "Is Richard having an affair?"

You and Marta both stiffen at the abrupt questioning. 

You think back to that day you had spent with Marta and Harlan when you sitting comfortably on the porch just a few weeks ago. 

_"Why do men instinctively pull at loose threads on their parachutes?"_

_"What?" You had asked, looking up from the book you were reading. Marta looked similarly confused._

_Harlan spun his laptop around to show us the photo of Richard and another woman kissing in his car. You had never felt so bad for Linda as you did at that moment._

"Richard? Affair?" Marta stumbles over her words. Is telling this detective the truth the best course of action right now? 

Blanc waves his hand. "A yes or no will do." 

You can tell by the look on Marta's face that she's going to lie. Which is definitely a bad idea. 

"...no."

The police nod their heads at her answer. She lasts a whole second before she's leaping to her feet and running for the planter. You jump to your feet, rushing in front of the police to get to her side. 

"Oh my god!" "Woah!" Wagner and Elliot exclaim at the same time. Blanc also jumps to his feet and rushes over, though you hold out a hand to stop him from getting too close while also rubbing a comforting hand on Marta's back. 

"Dear girl I'm sorry. I assumed you were speaking figuratively." To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned. "Here, take this." 

He hands you a handkerchief from inside his coat pocket. You take it and pass it to Marta, who accepts it gratefully and wipes her mouth. 

Blanc turns back to the other men while you help Marta calm down. "Quite something. But I was obviously right, Richard _is_ having an affair, his father-in-law found out and confronted him. 'You tell her or I will.'"

Elliot shakes his head and walks closer to you. "Even if it's true...you okay?"

Marta smiles at him, though it looks more like a grimace to you. 

"Even if that was right," Elliot continues, "protecting his marriage is weak sauce as a motive."

Blanc begins to pace once more. "Well. And then there is...Joni."

"Joni?" You ask. 

"Lifestyle guru Joni? No. Harlan was supporting her and her daughter, she had the opposite of a motive." Wagner defends the woman to your surprise. He must be a rookie if he's so quick to come to the defense of a suspect. 

Marta tugs on your shirt and gestures to the door. Together the two of you quietly try to go back into the house. The chill is starting to seep through your clothes the longer you two remain outside. 

"And if that support was threatened?" He spots the two of you sneaking out and holds up a hand, stepping in your direction. "Miss Cabrera, Dr. L/N, one moment please." 

"I was just going to go get some Scope--"

"I'm getting cold--"

You and Marta try to deter him off your trail but he steps between you, placing a gentle hand on your backs and leading you away from the door. 

"Was Harlan planning on cutting off Joni's allowance?" 

You stiffen under his hand even though the warmth of it as it seeps through your clothes is nice. This guy is good if he's figuring all this out because I _know_ that none of the family would tell this man that Harlan had cut them off, especially if he did so the day before he died. 

Marta's face screws up. "I..."

"Okay, don't answer that if you're going to puke. Please." Elliot glares at Blanc for a moment. 

"Meg said Harlan pays the school directly, Joni says he sends the money to her. Both were true, she was pocketing the double payment, Harlan found out and cut her off without a cent. Yes?"

Marta starts to shake her head no, but as she starts gagging she immediately starts nodding instead. Blanc hands her a glass of water silently. 

"You've been awfully silent through all this, Dr. L/N." Blanc says while shrugging out of his brown overcoat. "What are your thoughts?"

"Huh?" You question as you drag your attention away from Marta. When the coat comes off he reveals a suit that seems perfectly tailored to his body. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think I can assume that what Miss Cabrera here knows you know as well. You're mighty good at keepin' secrets, am I correct?" 

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. Blanc suddenly steps forward and holds out his coat to you. You stare at it for a moment, confused. 

"I-yes, of course. I have to be. What are you doing?"

He gently presses the coat into your hand, which you take reluctantly. "You said you were cold. I apologize for keepin' you out here, but this area out here gives us a semblance of privacy while we talk about such topics. In the meantime, you can use my coat if you wish."

You slowly nod, throwing it over your shoulders after a moment and slipping your arms into the sleeves. It's already warm from his body heat and the contrast between it and the cold air makes you release a deep breath. It smells of expensive cologne, sharp and musky while not choking you. He smiles at you briefly before continuing on with his interrogation. 

"Do you think the Thrombey's would have had ill intentions for lying about such things?" 

You open your mouth before closing it immediately. You need to be careful with what you say because you don't want to accidentally make someone look like they did something bad. "Well, in a sense, yes, but not because they _murdered_ someone."

"Why would Joni bump Mr. Thrombey off for the inheritance? Come on! Have you seen her insta? She's an influencer."

You stare at Trooper Wagner for a moment. How old is this guy?

"An allowance as a motive, Blanc. She has her business. More weak sauce." Elliot backs up his partner's claim. 

Blanc scratches his neck, looking off to the side as he thinks about something. "Granted, but she lied to me. All three of them did."

"Three?" Elliot asks. 

"Walter."

Shit. They all lied to the police?

"I see where you're going with this." Elliot finally concedes, as though he's understanding why Blanc is pushing this topic so much. 

"But there was something else. Harlan had turned Walter down before regarding film rights, but that night something Harlan said shook him. We look at the pattern, Harlan was cleanin' house. I wonder..." Blanc turns to you and Marta. "Did he plan to fire Walter?"

You decide to step in this time to save Marta from further vomiting. "Yes, he did. Can we wait inside now? I don't feel like we should be here listening to all of this."

Lieutenant Elliot jumps in before Blanc is able to ask another question, walking over and opening the door for you two. "Yes, please just wait inside but stay close."

Marta walks in first, and when you start shrugging off the coat to hand it back to Blanc he holds up a hand. 

"Keep it for now, dear. I'm plenty warm and you might still want it once inside." 

You nod slowly, oddly touched by his thoughtfulness. You've honestly never met a man like Benoit Blanc before, and can't help but wonder just what kind of Detective he really is.

"Thank you," you murmur before stepping in after Marta and following her down the hall to the living room. Whether you snuggle closer to the coat or not, nobody's able to tell. 


	3. A Couple of Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just started another semester of college. Am I loaded with course work? Yes. Am I currently writing another story on this website? Yes. Do I have time to be writing like I am? No. Am I going to do it anyway? Absolutely.

After waiting another thirty minutes, Trooper Wagner finally comes out to get both you and Marta. It's strange, considering all the other people were interviewed one at a time, but you're not about to question their reasoning. Lieutenant Elliot is sitting in a chair off to the side and Blanc is standing with his hands shoved in his pockets, waiting patiently for the two of you to enter. 

In the center of the room is one of Harlan's prized possessions: the wheel of knives. There's a chair sitting in front of it, from what you assume to be the interviews from earlier. 

"I've always hated that wheel," you murmur. "Harlan loved it, but it was just a reminder of death for me. And now, with how he died..." 

Marta nods. "I get chills just looking at it."

"Oh," you say, shrugging out of Blanc's coat and holding it out to him. You hadn't even noticed you still had it on, it was so comfortable. "Sorry. Thank you for letting me borrow it."

He smiles gently at you. "Was my pleasure." He takes it from you and folds it gently over the arm of the couch. 

"Miss Cabrera, Dr. L/N, we've kept you waitin' all afternoon because I wanted to hear from you last," Blanc says. "I wanted to have the entire picture of the evening in my head. Your pieces of it are at its very center. So please, take your time." He looks at you. "Y/N, you and Marta took Mr. Thrombey upstairs at 11:30. And left at midnight."

"I left a little before midnight," you clarify. "I had to get to work early the next morning. I-I said goodbye to Harlan and then..." you trail off, the memories of your final moments with Harlan making you emotional. "Then I left. And that was the last I saw him." You look off to the side, holding your arms close to your chest. You hate that you have to be here, have to relive these feelings all over again. You had just started to feel a little better but this Benoit Blanc is making your emotions flare up once more. 

Blanc nods his head, giving you a sympathetic glance. His eyes soften as he stares at you, taking a step closer and lowering his voice to a comforting tone. "I am truly sorry about your loss. For both of you." He turns to Marta. "Since you were the last one with him, I'm going to need you to think very carefully. And with as much detail as possible, tell us what happened in that half-hour."

Marta stills in her seat. The silence stretches between us as you all wait for her to begin speaking. Blanc looks at her expectantly, twisting a silver dollar in his hand before flipping it into the air. The sound of the coin flipping through the air rings through the room. 

When he catches it she seems to come back to herself, straightening in her chair. She takes a deep breath. 

"I took him upstairs with Y/N. We played our nightly game of Go, and then she left. I played with him after she was gone, at some point he knocked the board over and Joni came up to check on us. Then I gave him pain medication, he pulled his shoulder last week, and left him in his study. At midnight. Said bye to Walt, went home." She shrugs. 

"What medication did he get?" Elliot asks, pulling out his notebook. 

"...since his injury, I've been giving him a 100-milligram push of Toradol, a non-narcotic analgesic. And to help him sleep, 3 milligrams of morphine." 

"Anything unusual about his demeanor?" 

Another pause from Marta. "No."

You didn't notice Harlan being any different that night either. He had been a little downcast about the drama that was going on with his family, but nothing that concerned you enough to think he would kill himself. 

The men in the room nod at one another. Blanc stares at Marta for a few seconds until she smiles at him and he smiles back. 

"Well, that sounds about right. Thank you, Miss Cabrera."

Marta stands and flashes you a weak smile. "Should I stay?"

"No, no that's okay. You can go and join the others, I'd like to have a few more words with Y/N here."

Marta nods and on her way out she touches your arm briefly. You make your way forward and sit in the chair she had previously vacated. The reminder that all those knives are just sitting behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

Blanc moves around the back of the couch and sits down right across from you, leaning back casually and crossing one leg on top of the other. It's a relaxed yet dominating pose, telling you that you shouldn't be afraid but should also know that he's still holding all the cards. 

"Dr. L/N--"

"Please," you insist, "I get called that enough at work. Y/N will be just fine."

His mouth quirks up. "Y/N. Now, you mentioned that you left shortly before Miss Cabrera did?"

You nod. "Yes, as I said, I had to go to work early the next morning."

"What time do you normally get to work?"

You frown. "Around ten, but this particular client tends to get there early because of some habits they have. I don't complain, doing so would only make them feel bad. Why do you need to know?"

"We're just tryin' to get all the pieces together." He says politely. He glances back at Elliot and Wagner briefly. "Professionally speakin', do you think Harlan was okay that night? Was he actin' off?"

You swallow harshly. "I-no. No, I don't think he was. He..." you glance at them, wondering if you should tell them this piece of information, but decide to just go for it. "He had decided to cut them out of the will. He gave Marta and me some reasons as to why, but in the end, Harlan was the one book you could never truly read. It was why he didn't protest so much to having me around at first."

"At first?" Blanc asks, leaning forward a little as you begin to intrigue him. 

"It was a well-known fact that Harlan hates--hated--psychologists. He preferred to get into the minds of others, not the other way around." You sigh. "But, I don't know, he liked having me around. Marta and I. He said my information made him think in ways he didn't before."

Blanc nods, looking at you appreciatively. "I see."

"Y/N," Elliot interrupts, "while we're on the topic, what's your opinion on the other members of the family? Might as well get an inside look."

You grimace. "I don't think it's right for me to say, my opinion might be biased--"

Blanc waves a hand, giving you an encouraging smile. "Just say what comes to mind first."

You take a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in your lap. "Well, they're not murderers. That's my first thought." You glance between them, lingering on Blanc's piercing gaze. His eyes are gentle as he watches you, with the softest bit of a smile on his lips. Even though he may be older, you would bet real money he has no problem getting any woman he wants. 

"And?" Wagner pushes, sitting down beside Elliot with an expectant look on his face. 

"And...though they all have their own faults, they're not bad people. Harlan may have helped to make their lives a lot easier when he was alive, but the inheritance isn't a motive enough for any of them to kill him."

Elliot holds up a hand while glancing at Blanc out of the corner of his eye. "Harlan committed suicide. That was the autopsy report."

Your stomach sinks. You knew he had, but for some reason, a tiny bit of you had hoped that Harlan hadn't decided to take his own life. 

Blanc frowns as he watches you. "Would you like to take a break, Miss L/N?"

You shake your head. "No, I'd just like to finish this, please."

Blanc nods slowly, watching as if to see you're truly okay. "Per our earlier conversation, you mentioned you can tell if people are lyin'?"

You nod. "I've done enough case studies to know that people tend to have certain ticks when telling a lie. They're a dead giveaway."

"Why didn't you go into forensic psychology, or something crime related?" Wagner asks you, his interest piqued. 

You glance over at him and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm better at helping people than I am solving crimes, Trooper Wagner."

The smile Blanc had lost comes back slowly. "I don't know about that, miss, you're helpin' us by solvin' a crime."

You chuckle with a small roll of your eyes, feeling yourself grow more comfortable at the small joke. "I wouldn't exactly call it that, but I appreciate the effort."

Blanc watches you for a few more seconds before he nods. "Do you think we should have had you in the room with us when we were investigatin' the Thrombey's?"

You raise a brow at him. "Aren't I a suspect?"

To your amazement, Blanc gives you a teasing yet playful grin. "I have eliminated no suspects, but another opinion can sometimes be of use." 

Your mouth twitches at his words. _Is Blanc..._ flirting _with you?_

"Do you think the Thrombey's would have had good reason to lie to us?" Elliot asks, breaking the moment between you and Blanc. You blink your eyes as you remember just where you are. 

It could be a trick of the light, but it almost looks like Blanc is disappointed.

_You're being interrogated for a possible murder of a friend. Keep it together._

"Uh," you stumble, refocusing and thinking about said family, "well, yes and no."

Blanc raises a brow at you. "Can you elaborate?"

You bite your lip in thought. "Well, as you said before, I'm very good at keeping secrets Some of these things aren't for me to say. I've told you what happened that night, but anything besides that I don't think is appropriate for me to say."

"Can you go over one more time the...drama that happened that night?" Elliot asks. 

You nod. "In brief terms, Harlan cut off the family from his resources."

"The inheritance?" Wagner pushes.

You make a face. "...I don't...I don't think so. He confided in Marta and I that he wanted his family to have a chance to make a name for themselves while not leaning on his crutch. I don't know anything about his will, but I do know that he cut them all off from his money at the time."

"How?" Elliot makes another note in his little book. 

"He fired Walt from Blood Like Wine, he cut off his allowance from Joni, and he...he confronted Richard about the affair."

Blanc rubs a hand down his chin. "And none of those sound like motives for murder to you, Lieutenant?"

Blanc sounds almost smug and it makes Lieutenant Elliot roll his eyes. "There's still a lot we don't know about what happened that night."

"Can I go?" You ask, having reached your limit with the questions and the knife wheel and just everything that has happened to you today. 

"Of course, yes. Thank you for your help today." Lieutenant Elliot says immediately, nodding his head. 

You stand up and Blanc does the same a second after you. Wagner and Elliot share a look before standing as well, as though they were forced to by society's rules. You stare at them for a moment, not used to such formalities. You nod your head in goodbye and then with one last look you walk away. 

You pause at the door, glancing back to find the three of them watching you. You look at Blanc, some of that playfulness coming back to you. 

"If you need another opinion, you know where to find me. Have a good day, gentlemen."

Blanc's bright eyes twinkle. "You as well, Y/N."

You spin on your heel and walk the rest of the way out, feeling their eyes on you the whole way. 

* * *

You sigh, taking a large sip of your wine. The family has decided to stay in the house for the night since the will reading will be done soon. Everybody's already finished eating and the only reason that you and Marta haven't left yet is because Linda and Meg insisted on you two staying for a little longer. 

But yet as you walk over to where Fran has Marta cornered, going on about Harlan's death, you wish you had picked something stronger to drink than just wine.

"I don't think he killed himself, I don'. I don't. There's this Hallmark movie, Deadly By Surprise, where Danica McKellar plays a wife who gets poisoned by her husband but bit by bit so she thinks she's going crazy and she ends up killing herself, and my cousin who's the receptionist at the medical examiners office says that kind of thing can totally happen, she says it's not even like 3% as crazy as stuff she's seen come through the--"

Marta suddenly leans forward, lifting one hand and bringing her hand to her forehead and wincing. You move forward, setting your glass down and holding her tightly. 

"Marta?" You ask worriedly, "what's wrong?"

Meg rushes over, helping you hold your friend up. "Whoa hey, come here, hey. What do you--you want water?"

"Just take some deep breaths, Marta. Control your air." You instruct her in an effort to get her to calm down. 

Meg looks up at Fran. "Hey, Fran, have you still got your stash?"

Two minutes later finds the four of you in one of the family rooms and Fran opening a drawer at the bottom of the clock sitting above the mantle. 

"Take 'em whenever you need them. They're just drying out since you gave me that Juul." Fran hands Meg a joint. You raise your eyebrows but otherwise don't say anything. You don't judge. 

"Thanks Fran."

"I'm sorry," Marta says, sitting down on the arm of a chair in the middle of the room, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry, Jesus." Meg murmurs, lighting the joint. She holds it out to Marta, but the poor girl takes one look at it and shakes her head.

"That's where Fran keeps her stash?" You ask. 

"Who's going to open a clock?" Meg says as a way of explanation.

Meg shrugs and takes a puff before throwing it into the fireplace. She steps out of the room, leaving you and Marta alone. 

"What's wrong?" You ask her, bending down so you're eye-level. "Do you feel sick? Is it from vomiting earlier?"

She shakes her head, making a pained expression. "Just everything is getting to me. All of this is a lot to take in."

You nod your head sympathetically. "I feel the same way. Maybe we should get going? I can drive you home if you'd like."

She shakes her head and goes to say something when Meg and Walt suddenly walk back into the room. 

"Marta, Y/N, we've talked it over and--" Walt pauses just in front of you, slowly turning to face Meg. "Have you been smoking grass?"

Meg shakes her head at him like he's a crazy person. "No."

Walt purses his lips but turns back to the two of you anyway. "We talked it over and the whole family, we want to take care of you two."

Your mouth drops open in shock. "What?"

"What does that mean?" Marta breathes out, just as flabbergasted as you are. 

"We all think you deserve something." Meg nods her head. 

"Financially, we want to help you both out. You were never anything but good to Dad. Because of that, you can count on us." He moves forward and pulls you into a hug first. "We know you have bills to pay off, so you can count on us to help you."

You embrace him back slowly, completely caught off guard by this proclamation. When you step back he hugs Marta next, and you can see that she's just as shocked. 

"I thought you two should've been at the funeral, by the way. I was outvoted."

* * *

You walk outside, the chilly night air that you usually loathe suddenly more than welcome. It grounds you and clears your head, making it possible for you to analyze your thoughts one at a time instead of just letting them swirl in a storm in your mind. 

"Jesus..." you mutter, running a hand through your hair. It had been up but as the night wore on you could feel a headache brewing so you let it down to fall around your shoulders. You suddenly feel self-conscious, like someone's watching you, and when you look to the side you gasp. Blanc is sitting in the dark at the corner of the porch, smoking one of his cigars. 

"Detective? You're still here?"

Blanc hums and his chair creaks as he leans forward. 

You take a deep breath, steadying your racing heart. Blanc takes a large inhale of his cigar before blowing the smoke out expertly to the side in a perfect stream. You sit down in the chair at the table, silently glad that you remembered to bring your coat with you this time. 

"Did you know Harlan?" You ask quietly in a weak attempt to break the silence. 

Blanc takes another moment to enjoy his cigar before answering. "He knew my father who was a police detective. Years ago. My father respected Harlan. That says quite a lot."

"So that's why you're here?" 

"Here now? No." He shakes his head. "I stayed hoping to speak to you a little more."

You pause, taken off guard by his bluntness. "Why?"

"Something is afoot with this whole affair. I know it," he points a finger at you, "and I believe you know it. Miss Cabrera too."

"Detective Blanc--"

"If I have to call you Y/N, then I'm sure you can handle just Blanc." He says the words while wearing a smirk. 

You pause, watching him for a few moments. "Blanc. You're not satisfied with what you learned today? You need more?"

"Didn't you offer your services to me if I needed another opinion?" He counters back with a raise of his brow. 

You open and close your mouth. "Well, I...didn't think you'd actually need it. I just said it as more of a--" _flirtatious thing._

He gives you a few seconds to finish your sentence, but you don't. There's no way you'd admit to him that you had been flirting while he was interviewing you about a possible _murder._

But as you two continue to watch each other, you have a feeling he already knows. There's a look in his eye, full of intelligence and wisdom that you have a feeling many might not pick up on if they were to spend a mere five minutes with him. He hides his intelligence behind his gentle manner and quirkiness, but you know it's a front. But why does he feel the need to put one up in the first place?

"...you're going to keep digging?" 

Blanc, the gentleman that he is, allows your change of subject. "Harlan's detectives, they dig. They rifle and root, truffle pigs. I anticipate the terminus of gravity's rainbow."

Your brows furrow. "Gravity's Rainbow?"

"It's a novel."

"I know." You tell him confidently. "I haven't read it."

"Neither have I. Nobody has. But I like the title." He winks at you and your heart speeds up to your embarrassment. "It describes the path of a projectile, determined by natural law. Voila, my method. I observe the facts without biases of the head or heart, I determine the arc's path, stroll leisurely to its terminus, and the truth falls at my feet."

"But I already explained to you that my opinion on such a matter might be biased." You shake your head at him. 

Blanc studies you for a second before continuing. "The medical examiner was ready to rule this a suicide, but Elliot agreed to keep it pending for forty-eight hours. Tomorrow morning I search the grounds and the house, begin my investigation. I want you and Marta at my side. My confidants, my eyes and ears."

Your head starts to spin again. "What? Why?"

"I trust your kind hearts."

You shake your head. "Blanc, you talk about Gravity's Rainbow and how it's without biases of the head or heart but here I am with biases from _both_ on this particular subject. The last thing you need is me following you around and influencing your thoughts."

He stands to his feet, taking a step closer to you and towering over you in your chair. "Has it ever occurred to you, Miss L/N, that that's exactly _why_ I want you with me?"

You have nothing to say after that. The two of you remain there, frozen in place outside with the nightlife sounding away in the background. The moon is especially bright, but if it weren't for the porch lights you wouldn't be able to see the traces of a tender look on Blanc's face. 

The door to the porch opens and Marta walks out quickly, pausing halfway down the steps when she sees the two of you sharing your little moment. 

"I'm sorry, I just needed some air." She explains and then turns to go back inside. 

"Marta, glad you joined us." Blanc steps back, lifting his cigar to his mouth once more. The moment has been broken again. "I was just telling Y/N about how I'm going to need both of you ladies' fine assistance in the remainder of this investigation."

Marta looks at you in something akin to horror. "What? Why?" 

He blows out a cloud of smoke and nods his head in your direction. "I'm sure Y/N would be more than happy to fill you in." He puts out his cigar on the ashtray and then adjusts his coat before bowing. "I'll see you two tomorrow at eight. Have a wonderful evening."

Blanc walks past the both of you and around the outside of the house back to his car. You remain sitting and Marta walks over to sit in the other chair at the table. She looks at you with wide eyes. 

"What just happened?"

You take a deep breath. "Blanc wants our insight into this case." Calling Harlan's suicide a 'case' leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth. 

Marta puts her head in her hands. "Why me? I could see why he would want you but why me?"

You shake your head. "He said we have 'kind hearts'." You place your hand on Marta's arm, the two of you sharing a look as you begin to accept what's going to happen. "I told him he shouldn't include me. He doesn't believe that I might say something biased."

She rubs her eyes. "I just want for all of this to be over."

"Me too," you say, exhaustion seeping into your tone, "me too."


	4. A Walk in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much you guys for the feedback! It's so nice to hear that you guys are enjoying this story. Hope you enjoy this new chapter!

You wake up the next morning at seven and can't help but feel a little annoyance towards the Detective for making you wake up so early on a Saturday. The one day you usually get to enjoy off, except for when you're called in for an emergency appointment with one of your clients. You turn off your alarm with a sigh and get up, deciding to just get dressed and head to Harlan's estate. The sooner you get there the sooner you can be finished with this whole affair. 

Your phone rings halfway through brushing your hair. You answer it when you see Marta's name popping up on caller ID. 

"Hello?"

_"Hey Y/N,"_ Marta sounds shaky, _"Do you think we could ride together? I can stop at your place on the way over and pick you up. I just don't want to have to go through this alone."_

"Of course," you say immediately, briefly looking at the time on the phone. "Can you pick me up in ten? The Detective wanted us to be there by eight."

_"Yeah, I'll be there. Thanks, Y/N."_

"See you soon." You hang up and go back to brushing out your hair. You decide to just leave it down and forego any makeup. On a Saturday at the ass-crack of dawn, the last thing you're concerned with is looking professional. You put on a simple pair of jeans and a maroon sweater, lace up your boots and toss a jacket on before grabbing your essentials and waiting for Marta. She shows up just a few short minutes after when she said and you lock up your apartment before going out to her car. It's not a bad one, but it's definitely had its problems in the past. You would have offered to drive but she offered so you weren't going to say anything. 

"How are you feeling?" You ask, glancing at her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. 

"I still don't understand why we need to be there," she shakes her head, "these men are supposed to be professionals."

You stay silent for a few moments. You've wondered about why Blanc insisted on having the two of you there as well, but in the end, you've come to realize that you haven't known the man long enough to be able to get a good read on him. 

"Obviously he thinks we know something we're not telling him or not yet aware of." You look out the window at the passing trees. The leaves are starting to change color and fall off as the autumn weather begins to set in. "I don't know. This whole thing has messed up my rhythm."

The two of you say nothing after that, the rest of the short ride to the estate being done in silence. When Marta pulls off the road and starts down the driveway, you notice that the security gate is already open. Off to the side at the guardhouse, you can make out three figures, one wearing that familiar brown coat. Blanc. He shouts something and waves at the two of you and motioning to the guardhouse. 

Marta pulls off to the side and parks the car, the two of you getting out and walking over to where Blanc waits patiently. 

"Morning ladies," he greets with a smile. He's wearing glasses, giving him a cute older-man look. You nod your head back in greeting. Marta says nothing and looks around the grounds. 

Blanc seems to get the hint that you're not going to say anything so he clears his throat. "Right. We're going to have a word with the security guard, uh--"

"Mr. Proofroc," you tell him. He smiles back at you.

"Correct. Mr. Proofroc."

Blanc holds out an arm and gestures for the two of you to enter. You go first, Marta close behind. The guardhouse is small inside and also quite messy, though you know Mr. Proofroc is an older man so tidiness probably isn't big on his to-do list. 

"Y/N!" The familiar older man calls with a smile. He steps away from Lieutenant Elliot and Trooper Wagner and steps over to you with his arms outstretched. You feel some of the annoyance you had been feeling about the early hour melt away as you accept his hug. He's a sweet man, one who you and Marta enjoyed visiting when you could. 

"Hello Mr. Proofroc," you say gently. "How are the grandkids?"

"Georgie is getting into trouble, as usual," he winks at you, "but that's because of her grandmother, not me."

You nod along, not believing him for one second. 

"Marta!" He says when she steps around you, and some of Marta's tense stature disappears as she also hugs him. "You girls need to come around more often. It gets boring here for an old man."

You laugh, glancing back at Marta. Your eyes briefly lock with Blanc who stands just behind her. He's watching the interaction closely, a hint of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. 

"Goodmorning Miss Cabrera, Dr. L/N," Lieutenant Elliot adds, nodding respectfully at the two of you. You both greet him and Trooper Wagner. He turns back to your old friend, his notebook in hand. "Mr. Proofroc, you were saying about the footage?" 

Mr. Proofroc nods his head, as though he just remembered something. 

"Fifty years I worked this estate, you know security back then meant making the rounds with a 94, keeping your ears open. Before all this modern technology."

You glance around, trying your best not to let Mr. Proofroc see the incredulous look on your face. Nothing in here is modern. 

He leads the men over to the monitors where he keeps surveillance. You and Marta stay at the back, and you note that only one of the TV's is actually in working condition. Poor Mr. Proofroc doesn't really know how bad he needs an update. 

"Well the video here, I saved the tape from that night. Usually, I erase 'em with the magnetic de-gauser, but I thought I better save that one. Cause, security. That's the live feed there."

There on the screen is black and white footage of the entrance after the gate, showing the carved elephant that Harlan was so proud of sitting off the side of the road. More memorabilia from one of his mystery novels.

Marta suddenly stiffens beside you, and you give her a curious look out of the corner of your eye. She looks like she's getting nauseous. 

"You okay?" You whisper, not wanting to draw attention from the others. She spooks, looking up at you with wide eyes. "What's wrong?"

She pauses for a second before shaking her head fervently. "Don't feel good."

You nod with a frown. "Do you need food?"

She shakes her head again. She isn't puking so she's telling the truth about not feeling good. This whole investigation I know can't be good for her nerves. 

"Can we see the actual tape?" Elliot asks. Mr. Proofroc nods his head. 

"Oh, sure." He picks up the tape and hands it to Marta, who accepts it with shaky hands. She pops it into the VCR and presses play while we all turn to the tv. A black and white image with a date and time stamp on it pops up, showing nothing. It starts at 9 pm, so everybody would have been in the house at that time. 

"It's like a Japanese horror movie." Wagner says quietly. 

"I record is SSLP, gets eight hours per tape. Nine pm to five am." Mr. Proofroc says proudly. 

You suddenly feel a hand on your back. You look over your shoulder to see Blanc leaning in close to your ear. "Can we-" his breath tickles your skin, causing goosebumps to rise, "can we scan forward?"

You swallow, turning your head to Mr. Proofroc. "How do you fast forward?"

"Hold down the play button," he points to the buttons for Marta, "and press the FF down halfway until you feel it grind."

Marta nods her head and does as he instructed. Blanc leans back, but you notice that his hand lingers for a few more seconds before dropping back to his side. 

Suddenly the tape pops back up, with an alarming amount of smoke. Marta steps back, staring at it with wide eyes. 

"--and hold the tape down or it'll eject." Mr. Proofroc adds a few seconds too late.

"Can your guys digitize it so we can scan it properly?" Blanc asks the other policemen. 

"I'm sure we can," Wagner nods his head.

Marta takes the tape out and holds it in her hands. "I've got the tape."

"Good, we'll go take a look at the grounds now. Thank you for your help, Mr. Proofroc." Blanc shakes the man's hand, as do Wagner and Elliot. 

"Let me know if I can help you with anything else," he tells the men before turning to you and Marta, "and you two don't be strangers, yeah? Especially with Harlan gone, I don't want you to just disappear."

You go in and hug Mr. Proofroc again, pushing down the emotion that threatens to build at the mention of your late friend. "Of course. We'll visit soon, Mr. Proofroc."

Marta hugs him goodbye as well. Elliot and Wagner leave the guardhouse first, and Blanc holds the door open as you and Marta walk past him. Marta continuously looks around the area, and it's then that you realize something. Marta isn't just upset about Harlan's death and the ongoing investigation. There's something more here. 

"Y/N," Blanc calls just as you go to speak to Marta, and you look over to see him waving you over. With a parting glance at Marta, you walk over. 

"Yes, Detective?"

He pauses, his eyes twinkling. "I thought I told you to call me Blanc?"

"Blanc." You humor him, your own lips twitching with amusement. 

"How have you been on this fine mornin'?" He asks. You can sense the hidden humor. 

"Fine?" You scoff. "Detec--Blanc," you correct after he casts you a sideways look, "you made me get up at the ass-crack of dawn on my only morning off to walk around the woods."

He chuckles. "I do not disagree that you could be spendin' your weekend in a better way, but I appreciate you being here nonetheless."

You hum, giving him a coy smile. "Is there something you wanted to ask me?"

"Pardon?"

"You called me over. Did you have a question?"

He chuckles lowly. "No, not exactly. Just ask that as we look around here that you speak your thoughts out loud. It will help me with my own."

"Blanc," he grins when you say his name, "the only thoughts I have right now are that it's too early, I should still be sleeping, and the cold is no better in the morning than it is at night."

He frowns. "Would you like to borrow my coat aga--"

"No, no." You stop him. "Just speaking my thoughts out loud."

He laughs lowly at that. "I see. I look forward to your input." 

* * *

"You know all these statues that you see around here--they're all straight out of his series the 'menagerie tragedy series', pretty cool." Trooper Wagner says to the four of you as you continue to walk through the thickest part of the woods.

Lieutenant Elliot spares his partner a brief glance. "Awesome. Blanc, the grounds are lovely but you think what, someone broke into the house? To kill Harlan? Is that why we're out here?"

"I think it's unlikely," Blanc says, stepping over a part of a bush, "but if they did, there will be traces." 

You go to step over the same thing Blanc did, but your boot catches in a tangle of limbs and trips you. You let out a short yelp, falling forward and throwing your hands out in an effort to catch yourself. 

Before you hit the ground two firm hands place themselves on your waist and stop you mid-air. You suck in a breath as the hands hoist you back up so you're standing steadily on your feet. You cover place your hands over their own, noticing how much larger and warmer than yours they are. You spin around in the person's hold, coming face to face with none other than Benoit Blanc himself. He's inches away from you, his cologne covering the scent of the morning air. You find it to be quite nice. 

"Thank you," you say loud enough for him to hear over the calling birds of the morning. You laugh nervously as your cheeks heat and you know he can see you blushing. 

He looks down at you, his lips twitching briefly. "You're quite welcome," he murmurs. He squeezes your arms reassuringly before sliding one hand around to your back and gently steering you away from areas where you could possibly trip again. 

"You okay?" Elliot stops and asks you. You nod your head at him. 

"I'll take that, thanks ma'am." Wagner says as he walks up to Marta, holding out his hands for the VHS tape she's holding. 

"Oh, sure," she says and hands it to him. 

You walk up to where Marta is standing off to the side by herself. You've been so busy with Blanc that you've managed to avoid your friend and how she's been faring lately. And it's because you're walking away from Blanc and towards Marta that you miss the way his hand lingers where you had last been standing. 

"Hey," you say as you reach Marta's side, "what is going on with you?"

"Huh?" She looks up at you in alarm. "What do you mean?"

The two of you walk ahead of the other men and towards the entrance of the side yard. 

"I mean that you're acting differently, Marta. You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, I _am_ sworn to keeping secrets," you try to joke, but you can see it doesn't go very far with her. Something has her truly worked up if she won't even crack a smile at that. 

Marta suddenly stops, looking down as her shoe squishes in the mud path leading up to the gate. She grabs your hand and together the two of you walk forwards. You're confused as to why she's suddenly so insistent on this but you follow along anyway if it means that she'll start talking to you. 

"Marta! Y/N!"

You both pause near the gate, looking back to where Blanc is holding his hand out to you. Elliot and Wager are also standing off to the side, staring at the mud path. 

_Oh shit, tracks--_

"What?" Marta asks, taking a step back in their direction. 

"Don't--stop there, don't--"

"I can't hear you, what?" 

"Marta, stop!" You call out, stepping off the path towards the side and following after her. But she doesn't listen and instead continues down, leaving her own prints in the wet earth. 

"No no no no don't--don't step on the, ok, alright. Ugh, okay." Blanc shakes his head, looking to the sky for a moment as if seeking guidance. 

"Marta..." you groan. She looks back at you innocently. 

"Alright, Wagner let's get the boys on it, check the prints, tape off this area, keep it clear."

A sudden barking has the five of you looking to the gate where Harlan's dogs suddenly run towards you. They bolt through the mud, further ruining any possible evidence. Their tails wag furiously as they sniff the policemen and the detective before coming to you and Marta. Their tongues loll out of their mouth as one goes to Marta and one goes to you for attention. 

"Hey, easy," you calm the one at your feet, Brutus, as he begins to whine for attention. You crouch down and scratch him behind his ears in his favorite spot. He quiets down and sits in front of you, enjoying the loving you're giving him. Harlan's dogs, Brutus and Cassius, were two of your favorite creatures on this planet. 

"Best judge of character is a dog," Blanc says as he looks from Marta to you. "I've found that to be true."

You stare at each other for a few seconds before Brutus starts barking in front of you. He and Cassius take off towards the house where you see Linda and Richard exiting their car. Linda smiles as the dogs bound towards her, while Richard looks less enthused. Nevertheless, both dogs are excited to see the couple. 

"They're doing the will reading at ten, whole family will be here soon." Lieutenant Elliot says to your group and turns to walk back up to the house. 

"Oh, great..." you mumble. 

"I've never been to a will reading," Marta says as she walks beside you. To your surprise Blanc walks on your other side, slowing his stride so he doesn't pass the two of you.

"You think it'll be like a game show. No. Imagine a community theater performance of a tax return." 

You can't stop the startled laugh that escapes you. Blanc glances at you with a smile, obviously proud of himself for getting a reaction out of you. 

The three of you walk up along the side of the house towards the back porch. Marta falters over her steps halfway towards your destination and you reach your arm out to steady her. 

"We're talking. Soon." You tell her, pausing and looking her in the eye so she knows you're being serious. She swallows and then nods reluctantly. You hold her for a few more seconds before nodding and catching back up to Blanc. 

"Sweet beans," Blanc murmurs from a few feet in front of you. He's standing in front of the window looking out onto the porch. You walk up to his side to see Greatnana staring out at the lawn, her gaze completely blank. Blanc clears his throat. "Good morning Mrs. Thrombey."

You've tried speaking with Greatnana in the past but couldn't manage to get more than a couple of words out of her. She seems very sweet and Harlan always spoke about her with such care, but the woman is quiet and reserved. 

You and Blanc both turn back to where Marta is standing with her arms behind her back, smiling weakly at the two of you. You're immediately suspicious but you don't want to bring it up in front of Blanc. 

He turns to you with a serious look. "Do you think you could handle the study?"

You nod. "Sure."

* * *

You and Marta stand in the middle of the study, looking around at everything. The room's been cleaned and the couch where Harlan was found is gone. The white rug that rested beneath it is also missing. 

You glance over at where you last played Go with Harlan. Your eyes begin to sting as you remember your last moments spent with him. 

"God," you say quietly, the emotion thick in your voice, "I miss him."

Marta says nothing but nods along with you, a red tint also seeping into her eyes. 

"Where's your medical bag?" Blanc interrupts your moment gently. You turn away from him, not wanting to watch him and the other two policemen go through Harlan's belongings. 

"I...don't know. I left it here, I always leave it with Harlan at night." Marta answers. You look at her in confusion. 

"It's not here?"

She shakes her head. Trooper Wagner looks between the two of you for a moment before pulling out his phone. "They must have taken it in as evidence. I'll check on it."

Blanc walks over to your side and starts inspecting the Go board. "How'd the Go board get knocked over?"

"We were just goofing around," Marta says, "what are you thinking?"

Blanc pulls a baseball out of his pocket and begins tossing it up in the air and catching it. He does this a few times, staring at the Go board while doing so before he suddenly grabs the board and knocks it to the ground. A dull thud sounds, and he looks up at Marta quizzically. 

A sudden cacophony of sharp barking steals your attention. You walk over to the window and look out to see Brutus and Cassius jumping and barking all over one person you could really go without seeing today. Ransom. Though his voice is muffled you can hear him cursing as he kicks the dogs away with his legs. The sight of it makes you begin to burn with anger. 

"Let me guess," Blanc says dryly, obviously unimpressed already by the young man's appearance. You have to fight to bite back a laugh. 

"The will reading is starting soon, we should head downstairs." You change the subject, walking away from the window. You don't want to look at Ransom right now. 

"Is everythin' alright?" Blanc questions, a tiny furrow appearing between his brows as he looks at you. 

You don't say anything and instead, choose to bite your tongue. It's not good to speak ill of people, but Ransom is pretty high on your shit list. But this isn't just anyone you'd be speaking with, this is a Detective for a murder case. You won't bad mouth him in case it brings unnecessary attention to Harlan's grandson. 

"Y/N and Ransom..." Marta starts quietly as she seems to realize that you're not going to speak, "they don't get along very well."

Blanc watches you for a few moments, the frown not leaving his face. "Yes, well, why don't you two ladies stay with me while this will reading takes place, hm?"

You nod slowly. "Okay."

He nods back, confident. "Let's not keeping them waiting, yeah?" He walks forward and brushes his hand along your back comfortingly before he begins descending down the steps. You and Marta follow close behind. 

"Maybe he won't say anything," she whispers to you. You clench your jaw. 

Where Ransom is concerned? It's harder for him to keep his mouth shut. 


	5. A Will Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys are really enjoying this story. I'm so glad! As a thank you for reaching out and telling me how much you like it, this chapter is super long! They're usually 10 pages, this one is 14. 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews and kudos! <3

As you reach the bottom of the stairs you can hear Ransom at the door cursing at the dogs and turning the knob, so you immediately turn and walk into the closest room--the pantry. You don't want to have to see him, you haven't been happy to see him for a while now. You were lucky that at Harlan's birthday party he decided to leave early, but even though he didn't speak to you that night the mere sight of him made you feel...not good. 

Somebody enters the room behind you and you turn, expecting Marta or even Blanc, but instead, find Ransom himself hesitating in the doorway. 

He gives you a sly smile, adjusting his weight so he's leaning on one leg and giving off a casual look. You cross your arms in front of you protectively as you stare him down. 

"Hey, sweet cheeks. Haven't gotten to speak to you in a while."

"Which is exactly how it's going to stay." You say bluntly and then walk past him. 

Just as you're about to walk out of the pantry he wraps a hand around your upper arm. You halt in your steps, turning to glare at him. 

"Let me go, Ransom," you say lowly, an unspoken threat hanging in the air. 

His eyes light up and he smirks at you like it's all one big joke. He drops your arm and holds up his hand in surrender, turning away from you and reaching up on a shelf for a bag of cookies. 

You move faster out of the pantry than you did in. It's not your fault--you didn't know that the first place he would go is the pantry. You step back out into the foyer with a hand to your forehead while your arm still feels like it's being squeezed. 

"Y/N?"

You stop on your way to the living room, looking up to see the police and your friend watching you. Marta looks concerned, probably because she saw Ransom go in where you were and knows the history the two of you have. Elliot and Wagner are confused and Blanc, well, he's blank. There's no emotion you can read on his face. 

"Are you alright?"

You nod your head, rubbing one hand on the place where Ransom touched you absent-mindedly. "Yeah, sorry. I have a headache. Didn't really eat today, went to go get some food."

"You don't have any food."

"Huh?" You ask, turning to Blanc. He's watching you behind those glasses, his gaze calculating. 

"You said you went to get food--you don't have none."

"Oh," you laugh nervously, "right. Must have been one of those things where you walk into a room and forget why you went in there in the first place."

You're saved from further awkward interrogation by Ransom's reappearance. He's dressed casual but expensive, with a suave brown coat and plush sweater accompanied by casual yet dressy pants. His shoes alone you know cost what you pay for a month's rent. And yet he thinks they're cheap pieces of trash. Just one of the many reasons you can't stand him. 

"Blanc, anything you need to ask him?" Elliot asks the detective as Ransom pulls out a cookie and pops it into his mouth. 

Ransom sizes up Blanc immediately, frowning as he must realize he doesn't like what he sees. "The hell is this arrangement anyway?"

Blanc takes a deep breath. "Mr. Drysdale--"

A grin spreads widely across Ransom's face as he hears Blanc's accent for the first time. "CSI KFC?" He slips another cookie into his mouth and chews it smugly before ignoring everyone and walking into the living room. 

_"Asshole,"_ you mutter beneath your breath. Marta nods her head beside you. 

"That was rude," Wagner says, staring off to where Ransom disappeared. 

"Just ignore him," you say with a sigh, the pounding between your ears increasing as you anticipate the shitshow that's about to go down, "he's an idiot."

Blanc raises his brows as he thinks over what Ransom just said. "KFC?"

You shake your head and start walking towards the living room as well. "Don't let what he said get to you." You pat your hand on Blanc's arm as you walk past him. "The accent is endearing." 

You keep walking and don't look back in hopes that nobody sees the way you blush at your openly flirtatious comment. 

_I'm literally an idiot_ _._

* * *

"Are they always like this?" 

You nod, trying your best to hide the disgust you're feeling. Blanc lets out a puff of air through his nose similar to a laugh as he leans away from you. He's leaning against the wall behind you, Marta at your side. The family is arguing with one another thanks to a fight started by Ransom. You're not surprised. 

Linda finally raises her voice, cutting through the cacophany as they stop yelling at one another. "Alright! Enough. Jacob, we get where this is going. The bathroom's next to Harlan's office, where he had the big fight with Ransom. You heard something. Spill it."

_What?_

You missed this part. This is why they're fighting? What did Ransom do?

"I just heard two things," Jacob, Walt and Donna's son, says, "my will, and then there was more shouting, but I also heard Ransom say "I'm warning you"." Jacob glares smugly at Ransom. Walt throws his arms in the air in triumph as he looks at Richard and Linda. Walt has never been a fan of Ransom, always thought he was too spoiled. He isn't wrong, per se, but Jacob isn't much better. You look over as the cocky smile slowly slides off Ransom's face. 

"Ransom?" Linda asks quietly. "What's this mean?"

Ransom fills the silence by eating another cookie, the crunch echoing through the room. You look at Ransom with just as much confusion as the next person. What was he doing that those words were said with Harlan?

"It means Dad finally came to his sense and cut this worthless lazy _brat_ out of the will." Walt says much louder than is necessary. He limps over to Ransom, bending down on the arm of the chair and getting in his face. "And you better sell your little Beamer and you better give your notice at that country club and kick whatever fashion drugs you're on cause if you think after the bridges you've burned, the shit you've said and what you've put this family through for the past ten years that any of us are going to support you, are going to give you like Dad used to say a _single red dime_ , you're nuts!" He ends his tirade with a finger pointing in Ransom's face.

When he straightens and steps back I'm surprised by Ransom's control. If someone had done that to me in front of a room full of people I would have been humiliated and fueled by anger, but Ransom just rolls his eyes with a smile and mouths 'wow'. 

Richard puts his phone down and looks at Ransom seriously. "Son."

Ransom gives him a mocking look. "Father?"

"Did Harlan tell you he was cutting you out of the will?"

Ransom throws his hands up like his secret has been figured out. "Yup."

People start speaking again. Their voices overlap once more but you can't focus on one conversation. Harlan cut Ransom out of the _will?_ You knew he was cutting off his supply of money while he was alive, but not the will. 

"Then he's done what we weren't strong enough to do--this might finally make you grow up." Richard says with a tone of finality. 

"I think it might be the best thing that could happen to you." Linda sides with her husband. 

Ransom stares coldly back at his parents. "Thanks--my mother, folks."

Joni steps in, that look on her face that you know just means she's going to try to play peacemaker. "It won't be easy for you, but it'll be good. Nothing good is ever easy."

Ransom finally starts to show some emotion at that. "Up your ass Joni, you've got your teeth bit into this family's tit so hard--"

"Oh, 'up your ass', very nice," Meg bites back at Ransom in defense of her mother, "you homophobic privileged--"

Ransom points a finger at the young girl. "As a matter of fact--eat shit, how's that?" He nods his head as Donna starts going off about using appropriate language in front of her child. "Eat shit, eat shit--definitely eat shit--"

You feel the dull throbbing from earlier come back in a torrent and you turn from the room, unable to take anymore. You walk past Blanc and Marta to the front porch. You walk outside and for once are able to ignore the way the cold chills you and instead appreciate how it clears your thoughts. You wrap your knuckles around the railing and close your eyes, taking deep breaths. This helps to control your aching mind and you feel yourself start to calm down. After this is all over you might just take an _actual_ week of vacation. 

"What was that about will readings being boring?" You hear Marta ask as the door to the porch opens. 

"Exception that proves the rule," Blanc responds, his voice drifting closer to you with each passing moment. You feel a shift in the air next to you and then suddenly there's a gentle weight pressing down upon your shoulders and blocking the wind. You look to the side to see Blanc placing his coat around your shoulders with a gentle smile. 

"I should just remember to bring my coat," you murmur. 

"This is just easier because then I don't have to hold it," he quips back. You smile at him, appreciative of the break in the serious mood. 

The door suddenly bursts open once more and the three of you turn to see Fran stomping out of the house. 

"Asshole," she grits out while throwing her thumb back in the direction of the living room. Ransom, no doubt. She storms down the steps and around the house. 

Blanc stares after her for a few seconds, before pulling a baseball out of his pocket and twisting it in his hand. First the coin and now the ball--does he have to mess with something when he thinks?

"I'm warning you, Ransom said. I'm warning you."

Brutus bounds up the steps towards Blanc, his tail wagging happily and something quite large held firmly in his mouth. He drops it at Blanc's feet and stares up at him expectantly. You frown, seeing that it looks like a large piece of wood. Marta stares at it with wide eyes. 

"What's he got there? Hey boy." She coos, stepping closer and bending down in front of him. "You find a stick? He's always bringing junk into the house--"

Blanc bends down and picks it up, his attention switching from the baseball to the piece of wood. Brutus stares at him like he's waiting for him to throw it. 

"You want the ball instead? Huh?" Blanc pulls his arm back and chucks the baseball into the yard. It sails pretty far, and you can't help but be a little impressed. 

"Was that Harlan's?" You question, watching Brutus take off after his new toy. 

"Huh?" Blanc asks, his train of thought momentarily broken by your question. He glances back at you before looking to where he threw the ball, his brows furrowing. "Oh. I found it in the yard and assumed--"

"It's fine," you pacify him before he can actually start to feel guilty about it, "but what's that?" 

Blanc focuses back on the wood in his hand, roughly the size of a shoe. It's broken, and there's a circle under the strip where the break is. Blanc's eyes widen as he stares at the object. He turns and jogs down the steps quickly, something obviously clicking into place for him. 

You and Marta spare a glance at each other before you take off after him, moving quickly so you don't lose him. He stops just around the side of the house where Greatnana was standing earlier, looking up above at the trellis. 

"This looks like a relatively fresh break," he says, glancing down at the wood in his hand, "yes. Right there." He points up at the trellis above the window, right where a chunk is missing. The same size as the piece held in his hand. 

"Someone broke the trellis?" You ask yourself, confused. When was someone climbing up there?

"Wait, that doesn't make sense," Blanc says with a frown, following up the side of the house with his eyes. "Where's that window?"

You look at the window on the third floor. You let out a sound of surprise as you come to a realization. 

"Holy shit," you breathe. Blanc turns back to you expectantly. You look at him with shock. "It's the fake window."

* * *

Blanc leads you and Marta back into the house and right past the living room full of still-arguing people. He bounds up the steps quickly, and when you reach the top you're a little embarrassed to find you're out of breath and he's barely even changed his breathing.

"Show me, but don't step on the carpet." He gestures to the window. You stay by his side while Marta does as he says, walking alongside the wall and trying her best to remain off the carpeting. 

Elliot and Wagner reach the top of the stairs just as Marta begins pulling on the chunk of wall that covers the outside window. Blanc hands the piece of missing trellis to Elliot wordlessly, allowing the man to come to his own conclusions about what you're doing up here. 

When Marta manages to pull the wall out the whole way and reveals the window, Wagner lets out a gasp. 

"It's a trick window! From A Kill For All Seasons!" Wagner goes to take a step closer but Blanc holds a hand out, stopping him in his tracks. 

"Off the carpet!"

Blanc gets down onto his knees, pulls a loupe from his pocket and gets close to the carpet. He holds the loupe up to his eye and begins scanning across the carpet, looking for any possible evidence. 

To your utter horror, you can't help but notice how great his ass looks at that moment. 

"Traces of dried mud," Blanc tells all of you as he pads his way a few more inches down the carpet, "I suspect they go the length of the hallway."

"Footprints?" You ask, clearing your throat and trying to get back into a more professional headspace. 

"No, just traces." He tells you, sitting back on his legs and looking at you over his shoulder. 

"Depending on when it was last cleaned, it could be from any time," Elliot adds, trying to find a logical explanation. 

Blanc nods his head before pointing at the window. "But that would not explain this."

There on the sill, you see scuffs of dried mud. 

_So that means someone climbed in through this window. To get to Harlan? Did he truly not commit suicide? Did someone_ kill _your friend?_

"Analyze that mud," Blanc tells Elliot, nodding at the piece of the broken trellis, "it will match these traces, and you will find similar samples leading up the trellis on the side of the house." He shakes his head, looking following the path of mud over to Harlan's room. "On the night of the part, somebody who did not want to be heard climbing the steps went to a great deal of trouble to break into Harlan Thrombey's rooms. The game is afoot," he looks up at you with a smirk, "eh, Watson?"

* * *

Less than ten minutes later find Blanc, Marta, and you once more gathered downstairs with the rest of the family in the library. Wagner left for the police station shortly after you all went back downstairs to examine the new evidence.

The three of you remain near the back while the others sit and wait for the reading of the will. Ransom sits off to the side by himself, idly moving the pieces of chess. You sigh, secretly wishing you had kept his coat instead of giving it back after you reentered the house. You're starting to feel cold, whether it's from the actual temperature or just your nerves, you're not sure. 

"How ya feelin'?" Blanc asks you quietly. He stands between you and Marta but doesn't glance your way when asking this question. 

"Ask me that when this is all over." 

He chuckles, mouth curling upwards. "I'll be sure to do that." It's a promise.

"Well," Alan, Harlan's attorney, gets everyone's attention, "thank you all for getting together like this. It isn't legally necessary but I thought because you're all in town some of you are leaving soon, it would be best--"

Blanc steps forward and holds out his hand politely. "Excuse me, Mr. Stevens. As to that, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to gently request you all remain in town until the investigation is completed. Shouldn't be more than two days."

Lieutenant Elliot steps up to Blanc's side, nodding his head. "He's gently requesting, I'm ordering. Nobody move until we figure this out."

Linda, who's sitting at the front of the room with Richard at her side, turns to the men with confusion. "What?"

"Can we ask why?" Joni pipes up. "Has something changed?"

Blanc tries his best to hide his grimace. "No--"

"No it hasn't changed or no we can't ask?"

Blanc ignores Joni and turns back to Alan. "Mr. Stevens, please continue."

Alan nods, looking like he just wants to get this over with and leave. His assistant, Sally, doesn't look much better. 

"Right. Well, the other reason I thought this gathering would be, uh, beneficial is that as I told Walt, Harlan altered his will one week ago. He sealed it an asked me not to submit it to the courts for probate until after his death. So in case there's any confusion about anything we're all together, we can talk. I can't imagine any of it will be that complicated, Harlan's asses included, um..."

Sally points to something on the piece of paper in Alan's hands. "...the house."

Alan nods. "The house which he owned outright, um..."

"...sixty million."

"Right, in various cash accounts and investments, yes and of course the real assets are sole ownership of, um--"

"Blood Like Wine." Sally finishes for him. 

"Blood Like Wine publishing, his publishing company. Okay." Harlan for some reason seems nervous. 

Donna places her hand on Walt's knee and squeezes it comfortingly, and Walt places his hand over hers and grasps it with a tight smile. Walt has been running Blood Like Wine under Harlan's guidance for a while now, you know that he was firing him but surely he left it to his son in the will. 

"Um, he did write up a statement when he made the recent changes, he wanted it read first, so." Alan pulls out a letter and unfolds it. "'Some of you may be surprised by the choice I've made here. no pleasure was taken in the exclusion, and its purpose was not to sow greater discord in the family, quite the opposite. Please accept it with grace and without bitterness. But do accept it. It's for the best.'"

Everybody turns not-so-subtly to look at Ransom. He merely flicks his eyes up at them, giving each a blank stare. As much as you have your own issues with Ransom, you can't help but feel pity for him. This can't be easy on him. 

Sally hands Alan an envelope and he uses the letter opener to get the single piece of paper out. He flips it over but only one side has writing on it. Short and to the point, like most things Harlan did. 

"Okay, so--oh, wow. Yeah, not complex at all. This'll be quick." Alan clears his throat, glancing at everyone over the rim of his glasses before turning back to the paper.

You feel yourself start to grow anxious, but you're not sure why. You wonder how everyone will react to their part of the will. Surely Linda will get most of it--you truly believe her and her father had a better bond than the others did. 

"I Harlan Thrombey, being of sound mind and body, yada yada," Alan says skipping through the boringness, "my assets both liquid and otherwise, I leave to be split between Marta Cabrera and Y/N L/N." 

What.

"My entire ownership of Blood Like Wine publishing I leave in its entirety to be split between Marta Cabrera and Y/N L/N." 

Your head grows fuzzy. 

"The copyright of its catalog likewise I leave in its entirety to be split between Marta Cabrera and Y/N L/N."

The room starts to spin in front of you, Alan's words floating through your head. You can feel Blanc staring at you, and in front of you, the whole family has turned with shocked gazes to look at you and Marta. 

Walt stands to his feet, hand tightly clutching his cane. 

"Uh...no? No."

"No," Linda stands as well, stepping closer as Walt snatches the will and reads it over with his own eyes. 

"No. What?" Walt looks up at Alan in disbelief. "That can't be--that can't be right."

"What the genuine _shit!?"_ Richard chimes in, snatching the paper out of Walt's hands to look at it. 

"This can't be right," Walt argues with a shake of his head. 

Alan stares at him blankly. "It's right."

Your eyes unfocus in front of you. Your chest feels tight. Are you breathing? You're definitely taking in air, just in quick bursts. Are you having a panic attack?

The voices of the family continues to escalate as the revelation causes everyone's ire to rise tenfold. You hear a ringing start to build in your ears until all other sounds are drowned out. 

_Is this really happening?_

You and Marta were close with Harlan, that's a given, but he completely removed his family--his own flesh and blood--from his will and instead replaced them with two young women he's only known for a few years. 

_This doesn't make any sense._

Linda's voice finally reaches a pitch that manages to pierce through the ringing and bring you back to the present. You focus in on the conversation just as she points a perfectly manicured finger in Alan's personal space, her face contorted with rage. 

"Alan, take that piece of paper and shove it up your ass and get out!" She spins on her heel and turns her murderous gaze on Elliot and Blanc. "And you cops, out!"

Nobody moves. Nobody except for Ransom, who stands with a smug chuckle and saunters out of the room. On his way past you, he winks and brushes your arm with his hand. You cross your arms in front of you and step back out of his reach. He stares as he walks out, but says nothing more. 

"Linda--" Richard steps up to his wife's side in an effort to calm her down but she isn't having any of it. You've never seen Linda react like this and to be completely honest it's scaring you. Especially since you know you're partially the cause of it. 

"No, we need to talk and we need to _fight this thing_ and we're not going anywhere. GET OUT!" She shouts at Elliot and Blanc again. The two men remain impassive, as though a crazed woman isn't on the top ten list of worst things they've seen. "We're the Thrombey's, goddammit! This is still our house!" 

There's a beat of silence as Linda's words echo around the room. Slowly, everyone turns to face Alan for confirmation that this house is in fact still _theirs._ Your palms start to sweat. 

Alan looks around at each person before realizing that they're waiting for him to speak. 

"Sorry," he says, fumbling over his stack of papers and pulling one out, "there's, uh...oh. 'Likewise the house at two Deerborn Drive and all belongings therein I leave to be split between Marta Cabrera and Y/N L/N.'" 

You're definitely going to pass out. 

Linda turns and pushes through everyone as she heads for you and Marta. Her finger is now pointed at you, eyes aflame as she comes to unleash her wrath once more. Richard and Walt follow after her in an effort to stop her, talking over one another.

"You little bitch," she seethes, her voice breaking as Richard wraps his arms around her and stops her a few feet in front of you. You stare at her in shock. "Did you know about this? What did you do to him to make this happen?" She glances between you and Marta, a horrified expression on her face. "Were you two, what, were you _boinking_ my father?"

You have to choke back a laugh at the absurdity of the statement. Marta recoils beside you, thrown off guard by the accusation. 

"'Boinking'?" Meg questions in confusion. 

"Linda!" Richard is appalled. 

Jacob's twerpy face twists as he stares at the two of you with hate. "Were you sleeping with my grandfather, you-you dirty anchor baby?"

Joni and Walt join in on the conversation, talking over one another in an effort to be heard. Your head is going to implode any second, you're sure of it. The headache you were feeling earlier is back full-throttle and doesn't show any sign of slowing down. 

Your vision is suddenly blocked as Blanc steps in front of you, holding his hands up to try to calm the angry mob in front of you. He glances back at you over his shoulder. 

"I think heads have to cool a little, and in the meanwhile, I'd maybe run." 

You just stare at him, feeling a little lost. You would have continued standing there as the people drew closer until Marta takes your hand in her own and leads you away from the library and out of the house. The two of you move in a daze, and when you finally get outside you stand on the edge of the porch and breathe in the fresh air. It does nothing to help clear your mind. 

Joni is the first to emerge from the house. She steps up to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. 

"Listen, I know this is hard to understand--"

"Y/N!"

"Marta!"

Walt and Richard come out next, followed shortly by the rest of the family. All of them are trying to get your attention, some of them saying nice and understanding things and some of them absolutely calling you the filthiest names in the book. 

"I-I have no idea why he-- I just need to think," Marta tries to appease everyone, speaking for the both of you. You don't think you could get a word out right now if you wanted to. "I'll call you or have Alan call me or do something I don't know." She cries, all the while leading you down the steps and trying to get away from the group of people. but they continue to follow. 

"Get in the car," Marta tells you quickly, leading you over to her car. She jumps in the driver's seat while you go around and get in the passenger side, slamming the door shut and promptly folding in on yourself. 

With your head in your lap, you take deep breaths, tapping into all the breathing exercises you know to try to calm down enough so you can get to a point where you can start to think properly. You can hear Marta turning the car over, but for some reason, it won't start. 

You look up at her as she tries again to start the car. There's panic in her eyes and the family has officially surrounded all of you, knocking on the windows and shouting at you through the glass. 

"It won't start," she looks at you with a hint of fear, at a loss as to what to do. 

Looking over her shoulder you see Blanc calmly trying to dissuade the family from their pestering of the two of you, but with each passing moment that they ignore him, he seems to grow more and more annoyed. 

He finally stops and lets out a breath, looking through the throng to you and the two of you lock eyes. His lips thin and a certain determination grows in his eyes before he turns and walks away. Your heart sinks, feeling like the only other person on your side besides Marta has finally abandoned you. 

A sudden honking cuts through the chaos. You and Marta turn to see none other than Ransom himself pull up alongside your car in his Beamer. He rolls down the window and waves his hand at you. 

"Get in!" He mouths, motioning for you to move. Marta looks over at you uncertain. You shake your head. There's no way you're getting in a car with Ransom Drysdale. 

"Let's go," Marta nods, seeing Ransom as your only possible escape at the moment. You shake your head again, but she gives you an apologetic look and opens her door, stepping through the people and into Ransom's car. He hesitates, waiting for you to join, but you just stare at him. 

"Let's go, sweet cheeks!" He calls, staring at you through his sunglasses. You don't move. 

Someone opens your door and you look to see Walt standing there, hands held out as he talks. His lips are moving but you don't hear any words coming out. 

Ransom makes a noise of disgust and then peels out of the driveway, turning and rolling down his own window to call to his family. 

"I think this could be the best thing to happen to all of you!" He steps on the gas and then he and Marta disappear in a cloud of dust. 

You step out of the car, trying your best to get away from Walt and his son and manic wife, holding your head in your hands and wanting nothing more than to curl up on the floor in a ball. 

Someone whistles and gets everyone's attention. You all look over and see Blanc standing beside the police cruiser, holding a hand out in your direction. You walk over quickly, hearing the crunch of gravel behind you as a sign that everyone else is also following. 

"You can't leave--"

"--need to talk--"

"--isn't legal--"

You take Blanc's hand and he grips it tightly, leading you around the side of the vehicle quickly before opening your door and ushering you up into the passenger seat. He jogs around the side and slides behind the steering wheel, turning the key and allowing the car to run for only a few seconds before putting it into drive and gassing it away from the crowd. 

Halfway down the driveway, he buckles his seat belt with one hand. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before focusing on the road. 

"Safety is important to me--you should buckle."

Numbly you do as he says, clicking the lock into place and leaning back into the cold leather seats. There's a lot of technical equipment on the dashboard of the police car, and if it were under any other circumstance you would be interested. But right now none of it means anything to you. 

He pulls out onto the road and you start to head into town. He lets out a sigh, and though you're looking out the window you can feel him looking at you every once in a while. 

"Where should we go? I'd take you home but I get the feeling they know where that is." You don't say anything. "No suggestions? Are you hungry?" You still don't speak. "Okay--I would hate to be considered anything less than a gentleman, but I feel as though the best I can do right now is take you to my place. Would you be comfortable with that?"

Though you still say nothing, you find the strength to at least nod. He hums at your acknowledgment. 

"Don't worry," he says quietly, "this'll all blow over sooner rather than later." 

You don't voice it, but you have a feeling he's wrong. 


	6. A Long Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow you guys are really enjoying this story! I'm so glad to know that! I bought the movie today, and I'm about to binge-watch it while doing some classwork.
> 
> I would just like to say that switching between second person point of view for this story and first person for my other story is really hard to keep track of so I apologize if you notice any mistakes LOL
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews/kudos! <3

You're numb. The car ride with Blanc is silent and you're so lost in your thoughts that if someone were to ask you if the ride was short or long to his place you wouldn't be able to give a good answer. You lean against the window, enjoying the cold glass against your skin. At some point Blanc had turned on the heat in the car, leaving it on full blast. It isn't until you touch the glass that you notice just how hot you're actually feeling, and so you reach over and turn the knob until the air has ceased blowing. 

Blanc lets out a sigh in something akin to relief. "It was gettin' toasty in here, wasn't it?" He ends his little joke with a half-hearted chuckle. You just look back out the window. 

He doesn't try to speak to you for the rest of the trip. Eventually, he pulls off the road and into a small parking lot of what appears to be a set of apartments. It seems like a nice enough neighborhood, but you don't think you would enjoy living in such an area. 

"My job has me travelin' a lot," he explains to you as though he knows what you're thinking, "so for as long as I'm here at a time, it serves its purpose."

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt. He hops out and walks around the car to your side before you get the chance to open the door. He opens it for you, holding it while you slide out of the police cruiser. He shuts it and with a tight smile places a hand on your back and gently leads you towards his place. 

These apartments are connected and his is the second to last on the left. It appears to be two-story, with a mock-house architecture on the outside to make it look more appealing. The apartments around his have rugs and potted plants sitting outside to make them look more welcoming, while he has no decorations. It certainly fits with what he told you--what person who travels a lot would have time to make their home look more inviting? Especially if they're not going to be there?

He reaches into his coat pocket and fumbles around for a few moments before pulling out a ring of keys. He picks the right one and unlocks the door, pushing it open and stepping aside to let you enter first. Had this been happening under any other circumstance you would have been a blushing mess around him with all his chivalrousness. 

It's small, that's your first thought, but then again he lives by himself and with his occupation probably doesn't spend much time here. The walls are light blue and there are a few photos here and there on the wall, but not much personality. 

"I apologize for the mess," he says as he walks in front of you towards what appears to be the kitchen, shuffling the papers thrown on the small table and stacking them off to the side. You walk up to his side and glance down, feeling your heart begin to pound in your ears. 

The article published in the paper about Harlan's death is sitting off to the side. When you reach down with one hand to pick it up he stops his movements, watching you. You grasp the newspaper and lift it, staring at your late friend's smiling face. 

_"--famous author, Harlan Thrombey, commits suicide--"_

"Hey," Blanc's voice is suddenly right next to you, low and soothing. He gently takes the article from your hands and places it face-down on the table so you don't have to look at it. "Let's go have a seat."

* * *

Somehow, you and Blanc managed to change switch roles. At least, in the sense that he's the therapist and you're the client. 

Blanc took you to his living room where he had a small couch and a single recliner. He let you take your pick, but you immediately went for the softer-looking couch. He respected your privacy and seated himself on the recliner, and though you can see he was tempted, he refrained from kicking his legs up. Most likely to keep the small part of professionalism he has at this point in time. 

He left the room after you sat there in silence for a good ten minutes. You didn't blame him. You had no idea when you would be ready to talk again, so why should he waste his time waiting? 

While he was gone you stretched yourself out on the couch on your side, your head on the arm-rest and your body curled in on itself. Maybe you shouldn't be making yourself so comfortable and vulnerable in an almost stranger's home, but for some reason, you feel safe with Blanc. You know you can trust him. 

And so when Blanc returns and sits in his recliner once more, sans shoes, coat, and suit jacket, leaving him in his dress pants, white shirt, and suspenders, you immediately feel like one of your clients when they decide to lay down on your own couch. He doesn't blink an eye at your state, nor does he say anything to mock you. You've never been so grateful for silence. 

"Do you mind if I play some music?" He asks. You shake your head minutely. Music is still better than talking. He stands up and nods, moving over to a stand beside his small tv. He goes up to an entertainment system and presses a button. A few seconds later soft violins fill the air, moving slowly and floating through the living room. A few measures in you find yourself recognizing the piece. 

So he likes Telemann? You didn't exactly peg Blanc as a classical music kind of guy, more so an old country hits person, like Marty Robbins or George Jones. As difficult as it is for you to make a profile on him, you can't say you're disappointed by the challenge. 

This is something you used to do with Harlan. On the nights that you would go over and he would be in a writing mood, he would play some old record of his and the three of you would simply sit there doing your own things. Marta would read a book, you would go over notes from meetings with your clients earlier in the days, and Harlan would be clicking away on his type-writer. They were peaceful and you longed for those nights almost as much as you did your game nights with the older man. 

Harlan. Your friend who's now gone. 'Committed suicide', as that article on Blanc's table so eloquently put it. Why did he even have that anyway? Is that how he found himself to be investigating Harlan's death? But the thing that confuses you the most is _why_ he's even looking into it in the first place. Lieutenant Elliot ruled it a suicide. The autopsy said that Harlan slit his own throat. 

Harlan was out there, sure, but to kill himself? And on the night he had celebrated his 85th birthday? It made no sense to you. It's your _job_ to help people so they never get to that point, and you failed in the worst way possible. Your stomach sinks as you think of all the ways you could have said something to Harlan, asked if he was feeling okay, asked if he needed someone to talk to--

But, you think with an internal sigh, if you had asked Harlan how he was doing he probably would have cursed you out. He hated being analyzed, so he wouldn't have told you anything even if there _were_ something wrong. Which you still don't think there was. 

And the _money._

Oh, God. His will. He split it between you and Marta. You knew he was cutting the family off from his resources, but you thought that meant while he was still alive, and not completely out of _everything._ The Thrombey's probably hate the two of you. They must be so angry, knowing that two people who have been in their lives for less than five years have stolen everything from them. 

You can feel yourself start to get physically sick at the idea. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" 

You blink, your mind slowly pulling itself from the throes of your train of thought. Blanc is leaning into his recliner, eyes closed and posture relaxed. If he's not even looking at you then how did he know you were thinking of anything?

_Stupid question, Y/N,_ you think to yourself, _you're always thinking. Most of it not good._

"You're bein' awful silent, Y/N," Blanc says quietly, opening his eyes a little and turning to look at you. The concern on his face doesn't go unnoticed. "I'd like to extend my services if you should need them. I may not be trained like you, but my mother always did say I was better at listenin' than I was talkin'."

His small joke earns a small puff of air from you, the closest to any emotion you've displayed in the past hour or so. 

The violins crescendo and swell, and with it you somehow find the strength to raise into a seated position on the couch so you're no longer laying down. You tuck your legs under you and cross your arms over your chest, more for protection than to keep warm.

But what are you protecting yourself from? It's not Blanc. There's no present threat in the house. Perhaps it's yourself? The uncertainty of your own mind at the moment?

Blanc frowns like he can see that he's losing you once more to the dark void and stands to his feet, moving to the couch and pulling up a blanket off the other armrest and unfolding it before draping it around your shoulders. You look up at him as you grasp at the edges, tugging the cloth closer to yourself and immediately feeling better. Whether it's the softness or simply his smell that surrounds you, it seems to work. 

You swallow, your throat feeling extremely dry for some reason. "Sorry."

He pauses, his hands hovering over top of your shoulders where he was situating the blanket. He recovers and fixes it before standing and shoving his hands in his pockets, glancing down at your curiously. "For what?"

You glance down at the blanket crumpled between your fingers. You didn't even know you were gripping it so tightly. "I don't know why I always seem to be taking your things for warmth." 

His face morphs into an empathetic smile. He moves from where he was standing and back to the recliner, sitting down a little more comfortably as he knows you're feeling yourself start to open up more. 

"You're not cold, my dear, you're in shock."

"Oh," you hadn't even realized, "I suppose I am."

Blanc is silent for a few moments. He takes a breath and folds one leg on top of the other, resting his arms along the sides of the chair. "Do you know this song?"

You pay attention to the song. You know you're now listening to Tchaikovsky, but it's hard to pin the exact song you're listening to. 

"Tchaikovsky," you say, meeting his eye. He looks impressed. 

"That is correct. Symphony number 6, to be exact. _Pathetique_ in french."

You scoff, covering your face with one of your hands. "Exactly how I feel."

You thought you had said that quietly enough that he wouldn't be able to hear it over the sound of the music, but judging by the frown on his face when you look at him again you can tell it wasn't quiet enough.

"I must admit, Y/N, you're doing a lot better in your situation than most other people I've seen."

"You mean other people have had their friend kill themselves and then leave you their fortune over their own flesh and blood?" You can't help but be a little annoyed. You don't want to take your anger out on Blanc, but now that you're starting to feel things again it's just going to be released on whoever is closest. Unfortunately, that means it's him.

He twists his mouth. "Well, no. Not exactly like that." The song ends and changes to a piece by Grieg, one of your favorite composers. This song is slower and more melancholic than the last one. 

You twist your fingers together and stare at them as your eyes begin to burn in a familiar way, a thousand different thoughts running through your head. "Just... _why?_ Why me? Why Marta?" 

"Why not? It was Harlan's money to do with as he pleased."

You look up at him quickly, getting defensive. But not for yourself, no, for the family that got nothing. "But we only knew him for a short period of time! Those are his kids, his grandchildren!"

Blanc nods his head. "And you were his friends." His voice is calm compared to your tempest. 

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before the dam that had been so tightly walled inside yourself finally breaks, and you cry. You cover your face with your hands and try to stop the tears from falling, but they simply slip through the cracks of your fingers and drip down onto your lap. You refuse to make a sound but you can't stop the shaking of your shoulders. 

The couch beside you dips and you can feel Blanc sitting beside you, the warmth of his thigh close to your own. He doesn't touch you, it allows you to take care of this yourself and choose if you want to ask for help from him or not. 

When you finally pull your hands away from your face you know you must look awful. Red eyes, flushed face, and tear-streaked cheeks. Wordlessly, he reaches for the box of tissues on the small coffee table and plucks one out, handing it to you. You accept it gratefully and do your best to clean yourself up. 

"You feel guilty about somethin' that you had no control over," Blanc leans back into the couch, still close to your side if you need him, "and your empathy is what's makin' you feel like this. But what about Harlan? Did you think about how he might have wanted his resources to go to someone who deserved them?"

You also lean back, the two of you staring forward at the wall. "No, I guess not." You take a deep breath. "It's just a _lot._ Thirty million dollars. And that's just the money on its own. That doesn't include the revenue that his business brings in, which will also go to Marta and me."

"You'd never have to work again," Blanc muses, and you can hear the tease in his voice. You look over at him with a roll of your eyes, his face less than a foot away from your own. 

"The problem is that I like what I do." 

Blanc shrugs. "Then continue to do just that. But now you can enjoy it rather than havin' to worry about bein' out of a job or calling off."

You hum, thinking over his words. You know he's right. There are people out there who would love to be in your position, to have just received what you did. Why are you acting so ungrateful?

"I just wish this would have happened under different circumstances," You whisper sadly. "I'd rather have Harlan here than his money."

Blanc stares at you for a few seconds, his bright blue eyes almost appearing to see right through you. But they're not piercing or cold--they're warm. 

"I know. It's like I said before--you and Marta have kind hearts. I do not believe either of you had an evil plan to get the inheritance from Harlan."

"So you don't consider us suspects?" 

His mouth curves upwards in that increasingly familiar way, teasing you. "I never said that."

You scoff, facing forward once more as you blow a strand of hair out of your face. "A modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, if you will."

"I quite enjoy that story," Blanc says almost defensively. 

You feel yourself start to relax, some of the turmoil that had been plaguing you flying leaving your body. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Blanc nods beside you, "so masterfully told that it makes any lawman feel for a criminal."

"You empathize with bad guys now, do you?"

"Don't you?" He asks, still staring at you. If you were still looking at him you would see the way his eyes were tracing your side profile, taking in each small detail. 

"I empathize with people who have problems they can't control. Criminals choose to do what they do."

"Gravity's Rainbow is a code I try to live by, yet sometimes there are a few exceptions."

"Yeah?" You ask, facing him once again just as his eyes snap back up to your own. What was he looking at? "What exceptions have you had to make?"

Blanc ponders over your question for a few moments. "Some I'm not too proud of, that have turned our rather foul for me in the end."

You frown, not expecting him to give such a serious answer. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He chuckles. "So I try to be more firm in my position. Not let any distractions nor personal feelings get in the way of a case. Such things can be mighty distractin'."

The two of you watch each other, his words hanging in the air. The way he's looking at you right now makes your heart speed up and your palms sweat, but what he just said makes your stomach sink. He doesn't let personal feelings get in the way of a case. He remains professional. 

But what about once the case is solved? What if it never gets solved? What if there is no case to begin with? Would it be morally wrong to be with the person who investigated the murder of a friend? 

Blanc probably isn't even feeling a hint of the attraction that you feel towards him. You're just blowing this all out of proportion. When this is all said and done the two of you will go your own separate ways and you'll never see each other again. 

"Now that you're feelin' better would you like something to eat? Drink?" 

You nod. "I'll take a glass of water, please." You're not about to make this guy go out of his way and make you food just because you were dumb and didn't eat today.

And then your stomach growls.

He glances down at your stomach while you blush. When he looks at you again he's obviously trying not to laugh, but failing. 

"I hope you don't mind," he says as he stands to his feet and walks to his kitchen, "it's no five-star restaurant, but my momma did teach me how to make a nice grilled cheese."

You laugh to cover your embarrassment. "You don't have to do that for me."

He looks over his shoulder and winks at you. "Would be my pleasure." He disappears around the corner and you can hear him start to mess around with pots and pans.

You decide to take this moment to look at your phone. You had put it on silent this morning and haven't had a chance to look at it, so when you turn it on you're not surprised by the influx of calls and texts flooding your screen. There's only one or two from work while the other thirty are from the Thrombey's. Most of the calls are from Walt and a few texts are from Meg, with the other members of the family trying to also contact you. 

_Are you okay?_

_Where did you go?_

Meg. 

_Come back now._

Linda. 

Nothing from Marta. She didn't text or try to call, and you're only slightly worried. Why would she just take off with Ransom like that? She knows you don't trust him, not after the stunt he pulled. You're a little hurt that she chose him over you, but you also know that it was her fight or flight instinct telling her to do so. Ransom was offering an escape from the chaos the family was causing and if you didn't know him like you do then you probably would have jumped in his Beamer with him too. 

Your screen lights up and you see you have an incoming call from Meg. You frown, answering it and lifting the phone to your ear. 

"Hello?" The rustling in the kitchen stops.

_"Y/N, hey. I'm so sorry about what happened. That was crazy."_

You clear your throat. "Yeah, it was."

_"Are you okay?"_

"I'm...okay. Shaken up, but fine otherwise."

_"Everyone here is nuts. They've lost their marbles. I think they probably need you now more than they did before."_ She laughs weakly. _"I just, I wanted to--I don't know. I'm sorry about all that. And I just, well I was curious about...what you're going to do?"_

You blink. "What are you talking about?"

_"With the...with the will. What are you going to do?"_

It feels like someone dumps a bucket of cold water over your head. What little relief Blanc managed to bring you was promptly crushed. 

"I have no clue, Meg. This is a big deal."

_"I agree."_

"What do you think?"

_"I, well, I talked to Marta and she might have mentioned coming back and...giving the money back to us. Granddad always took care of us, we're his family. I know he was close with you and Marta but he was our actual family. I know you would understand more than anyone why you should do this. Everyone loves you guys, you're like family. We'll take care of you but you have to make things right, you know what's right."_

Blanc comes into the doorway and leans against the wall on one hip, arms folded against his chest. He's watching you with concern, noticing the change in your demeanor this phone call is making.

Meg wants you to give up the will. But this doesn't seem like your friend, this seems like someone else making her say this. 

"Meg, are you saying this or is someone in the room telling you to say this?"

_"What?"_ She sounds confused, but the tone of her voice is forced. _"No, Y/N, I'm alone. Look, I just think this is what's best for everyone."_

You can't believe it. She's lying. 

"And Marta said she would come back?" You ask quietly, staring at Blanc. His lips thin. 

_"Y/N...mom's broke. She says I'll have to drop out of school. This money would help us."_

Is that what Meg is afraid of? You start shaking your head as though she can see you through the phone. "Meg, you know I wouldn't let that happen. Neither would Marta. Whatever you need, we would help you."

There's a long silence on the other end of the phone. _"Thanks."_

"And then we can talk--"

The phone disconnects. You pull it away from your ear and stare at it for a few seconds, that numb feeling from once more creeping in. 

"Telemarketer?" Blanc asks with a teasing tone, but the concern on his face is real. 

"She lied to me," you murmur in disbelief, "I could hear it. She was lying."

Blanc hums, nodding once. "The 'yin' to Miss Cabrera's 'yang'." 

"What?" You question, coming back to the present. 

"Marta can't tell a lie and you can tell when someone is lying," he pulls his silver dollar from his pocket and flicks it in the air before catching it just as easily, "two sides of a coin." 

"I guess," you murmur.

He shoves the coin in his pocket. "Still hungry?"

You nod slowly. "Less so than before, but yeah."

He flashes a small smile. "I'll have it ready shortly."

He turns to go back into the kitchen, but after all that's happened, you decide you have to say something now. 

"Blanc," you call, watching him halt in his steps. He turns back to you expectantly. 

"Yes?"

"...thank you. For everything. You've been more than kind."

He smirks and tips an imaginary hat in your direction. "A woman such as yourself deserves no less."

Before you have time to think over his words he's disappearing around the corner once more and leaving you a blushing mess on the couch. 


	7. A Startling Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'mmmmmm bacckkkk!!!! 
> 
> Sorry for the wait--college and all, ya know? The love and support I've been getting for this little story is very encouraging and I love seeing the messages you guys send! 
> 
> Thank you for the revies/kudos! Love you all!

You manage to eat half of the grilled cheese that Blanc hands you, and even though it is one of the best grilled cheese sandwiches you've ever had, there's no way you can eat the whole thing. Your stomach is a twist of knots and if you were to eat the other half you're sure you would end up vomiting. And that's the last thing you want to do in front of this man. 

"I can put it in the fridge for you if you get hungry for it later," Blanc says once he's done with his own sandwich, looking at your plate from the corner of his eye. 

You smile weakly. "That would be great, thank you. It was really good, just lost my appetite."

He's nodding before you finish talking, standing from his chair and taking your plate to his refrigerator. "No need to explain yourself to me, Y/N. I can tell when someone doesn't like my cookin'."

Your mouth drops open. "N-no! That's not--" 

Your words stop when he glances back at you over his shoulder. He's got a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, telling you that he's just teasing you. You drop your face into your hands with a relieved breath, shaking your head and trying to hide your own smile. 

"That wasn't very nice."

"Neither is not cleanin' your plate," he says matter-of-factly when he sits back down at the table across from you, "but I guess I'll let that slide."

You run a hand through your hair, shoving it away from your face and looking back up at him. He's got his legs crossed and hands folded neatly over his knee, watching you. 

"Do you always pick on your guests like this?"

"Only when I know they can take it," he chuckles, "you'd be surprised by how many can't."

You raise a brow in questioning. "Really?"

He nods, moving to roll his sleeves up. You try your best not to stare at his arms as they become exposed, at the veins on his arms and the way the muscles flex at the subtle movements. 

"As you can probably imagine, I don't make it a habit to bring people back here." His mouth twists downwards briefly as a button refuses to budge. "On the rare occasion that it does, any effort for enjoyment is usually frowned upon and rebuked."

You're surprised by this. "And who do you normally bring here?"

He pauses on the last sleeve, eyes briefly glancing up at you. Was that too personal of a question?

"Uh, well..." he starts slowly, planting both feet back on the ground and leaning back in the chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight. "A friend or two, my sister and her husband, the occasional...acquaintance."

You don't ask him to elaborate on what he means by 'acquaintance', having a feeling you already know. You ignore the churning that information causes in your stomach and instead focus on something else he revealed. 

"Your sister?" You ask, and for some reason, he seems relieved that you decided to ask him about that. "What's she like?"

He smiles slowly at you. "Are you makin' a profile for me, Dr. L/N?"

It's your turn to smile back, the negative thoughts from earlier becoming drowned out by your current conversation. "It is my job, isn't it?"

He watches you for a few seconds as though he's sizing you up in his own mind. "Well, can't exactly fault you for that, can I?"

You shake your head. "No, but don't worry. I've sworn to an oath not to share any information unless absolutely necessary."

"Yes, well, let's hope it never comes to that." He chuckles. "My sister is...not like me at all."

"Well that's good, I don't think I could handle two of you."

Blanc's eyes widen as his mouth drops slightly. A startled laugh escapes his lips. "Dr. L/N!" 

You shrug, playing coy. "I'm just saying what I think. Isn't that what you want me to do?"

He leans back, uncrossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. He raises a brow, as though he's impressed. "Yes, I suppose I did."

You wave your hand to let him know to continue on. 

"She's a few years younger, my mother and father weren't exactly expectin' her."

"Surprise children are always the best."

He chuckles. "That's what she would say too. She's an accountant for a big business somewhere in Chicago. Smart, that one is."

"Don't sell yourself short," you can't help but come to his defense, "you wouldn't have such a good reputation had you not possessed some smarts yourself."

He softens, glancing down at the table. "She's one of the strongest women I know. When she puts her mind to somethin' she won't stop until she's done it. I call her hard-headed, but in a good way. Always wantin' the best for people."

"She sounds like a good person," you say quietly, "but I don't understand how the two of you are any different. Everything you've said to describe her I've also seen in you."

Blanc's eyes shoot up to yours, silence descending like a thin blanket. His face is neutral but his eyes are expressive--they're soft and imploring like he's searching for something that you must possess that he wants. 

But whatever it is that he's searching for, you have no clue what it could be.

"If you knew her, you'd know what I meant," he says plainly, tapping the table definitively with his fingers before standing. "Why don't we move back into the living room?"

* * *

If you hadn't already had your world shaken by the will reading earlier today, you would say that you were almost _disturbed_ by how easy and comfortable you felt around Blanc. 

The two of you had gone to your respective seats, your legs crossed in front of you as you perched on one end of the couch and Blanc relaxed in his armchair. 

_ "I feel like you need a cat," _ you had joked, pulling a chuckle from the older man, _"it's quiet."_

_"The poor thing would probably starve with as often as I'm actually here,"_ he had grinned at you. _"Perhaps one day I'll get a pet. A fish."_

_ "A fish!" _

_ "They're easy enough to take care of." _

_ "But surely you'd rather have a  _ companion."

He had scratched his chin, an undecipherable look in his eye as he stared at you. _"Perhaps."_

That was almost two hours ago now. The conversation had flowed from there and slowly you found yourself revealing little details about yourself, such as how your parents lived a few states away, how you met Marta in college, who your favorite artists were and how many concerts you'd been to. 

But what surprised you the most was that Blanc responded in kind. You found out that both his parents had passed (and even though you already knew about his father you didn't push on how), that he used to play piano and that he had some very famous friends thanks to his line of work. Finding out that you were sitting in the same room as someone who was friends with a movie actor was very intimidating, though he just laughed at your blushing face and said his friend was just like any average guy. 

But you hadn't been blushing at that, you had been blushing at the way Blanc's smile made you feel as he talked about his friend and his happier memories. Had Blanc been one of your patients this would have been completely inappropriate, but maybe that's why you were allowing yourself to feel like this. Because he _wasn't_ a patient and just a man who happened to be in your life. 

The man currently occupying your thoughts is asleep in the armchair, eyes closed and face lax. He had leaned back a little into your conversation and the events of the day must have been just as exhausting to him as they were to you because after you had excused yourself to go to the bathroom and come back he was out. Plus it's late in the evening now, so you can't fault him for drifting off. You quietly went back to the couch and stretched out, sitting against the armrest and trying to catch a few moments of sleep yourself. 

Had this been any other man's house you're sure you wouldn't have felt as safe as you did, but this was Blanc. A man who has only been in your life for a few days and yet you feel better with him than you did your previous boyfriends. A thought that should be disconcerting but instead is oddly comforting. 

You look over, the record that Blanc had put on playing some light Grieg. Your taste in classical pieces is a conversation that lasted almost an hour by itself. For the first time in a week you've been able to relax, and for the first time today, you haven't felt plagued by the events of this morning. 

And then your phone buzzes. You had left it on the coffee table while you were in the kitchen with Blanc, and then when you were talking there was nothing from it. But now, an hour after Blanc's fallen asleep and it makes a light rattling noise on the faux wood. You pick it up quickly, not wanting to disturb Blanc's rest, and flip it over to see Marta's name on the screen. 

_Where are you?_

A text. Should you tell her? Is she still with Ransom? The thought brings back some of the cold feelings from before. 

_Are you still with Ransom?_

_No I'm home. Are you okay?_

You briefly look up at the other person sleeping soundly in his chair.

_I'm fine. How are you doing?_

_I don't know, to be honest. Can we talk? There are a few things I need to tell you._

That piques your interest. Is she finally going to talk about what's been plaguing her mind these past few days?

_Do you want me to call?_

Her response is almost immediate. _No. Can you come over? I would feel better if you were here with me right now._

Your shared feelings go unsaid. As much as you enjoy being with Blanc you know that Marta is the only one who would truly understand how you're feeling right now. Should you ask Blanc for a ride to Marta's? You don't have your car and he basically stole a police cruiser to get the two of you here. 

No, you decide, you'll take an Uber. He's already done so much for you and you don't want to be a burden to him. 

_I'll be there soon._

Ten minutes later there's an Uber outside the building and you know it's yours. You slip your shoes back on and zip up your jacket, double-checking to make sure you didn't leave anything behind. 

You hesitate in walking past Blanc. The poor barely moved while you were gathering your things, merely lifting one arm to throw above his head. You drag your eyes away from the way his bicep presses against the fabric of his dress shirt and instead focus on his face. His lashes are surprisingly long and fan across the top of his cheek, his lips slightly pursed as he breathes softly. His glasses are safely sitting on the coffee table. 

You get a sudden urge. You know you shouldn't do this. You _really_ shouldn't do this, but with how soft and innocent he looks at this moment you can't find the necessary strength to resist. 

You gently brush a finger across the skin of his cheek, tensing when he releases a sharp breath at the gentle action. Once he relaxes once more you decide to _fuck it_ and lean down, letting your lips drift over the same spot on his cheek with the gentlest of caresses. His skin is soft beneath you, and when you pull back you're both relieved and disappointed to find him still asleep. 

"Thank you," you whisper, and with one last parting glance you turn and quietly let yourself out of his apartment. 

* * *

One long and expensive Uber ride later, you finally arrive outside of Marta's apartment building. Apparently Blanc lives farther from the Thrombey mansion than you originally expected. Maybe you should've paid more attention when you were driving down there to begin with. You thank the driver and get out, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you walk up the sidewalk to the back of the building. 

_Although it wasn't really_ that _expensive, now was it? You don't have to worry about that sort of thing anymore, do you Y/N?_

The thought comes out of nowhere, unbidden and unwanted. It actually makes you stop in your tracks, the cold wind that bites against your cheek going completely unnoticed. 

Thirty million dollars are now yours. 

Jesus. 

You pick up your pace to Marta's and knock on the door, mindful of the late hour and the other doors leading to apartments in this hallway. Less than thirty seconds later you can hear the lock sliding against the worn wood before the door is pulled open. Marta stands in front of you, looking small and wide-eyed still dressed in her clothes from before. 

A mere two seconds pass before you both step forward at the same time, tugging the other into a tight embrace. You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding as her hands grip your jacket tightly. 

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispers. 

"Me too," you agree. She steps back and you see that there's a sheen in her eye. "Sorry I didn't text you earlier..."

She shakes her head. "No, I should be the one apologizing. I left with Ransom while you were deserted with my junk car. I know you two don't get along well and I should've stayed with you--"

"It's okay," you hold up a hand to halt her rambling, "seriously. Detective Blanc stepped in and helped."

Her eyes widen even more than you thought possible. "Blanc?"

You nod your head. She swallows harshly, a nervous action of hers that makes your stomach tighten. "What did you want to talk about, Marta?"

She glances over her shoulder briefly. "Let's go to my room. Mom and Alice are in the living room watching a movie right now." 

She shuts and locks the door behind you while you toe-off your boots. You follow her towards her room, briefly stopping to hug her mom and sister. Normally you would have been happy to stop and talk with them, but you can tell that whatever talk you're going to have with Marta it isn't going to be a pleasant one. Marta ushers you away from them and down the hall to her room. 

"Ransom didn't do anything...did he?" You ask once she's shut her door behind you and is sitting on the edge of her bed. She looks up at you quickly and shakes her head. 

"No! No, he didn't do anything. He was actually very...helpful."

You raise a brow skeptically. "Ransom? Helpful?"

"I know how strange it sounds, but he really helped me."

You pinch your lips but don't say anymore. Discrediting what she's saying might stop her from opening up about what's been bothering her so you won't say anything on the subject. 

For now, at least. 

"So," you sit beside her, the mattress creaking beneath you, "where should we start? With what you wanted to tell me, what happened with Ransom, or with what we're going to do about the shit storm brewing back with the Thrombey's?"

Marta pinches her face and for a brief second, you're afraid she's going to be sick.

"Did any of them call you?"

"Just Meg," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "and she told me that she had already talked to you and that we should give the money back." 

Marta nods. "I didn't say I was going to give the money back, but I also didn't say I wasn't. I don't think she was very happy with me."

You stare at Marta's cream-colored wall silently for a few seconds. "I honestly don't know what to do."

She lets out a large breath. "That's what Ransom helped me with."

You look at her in surprise. "You're not giving it to _him,_ are you? You heard what he said--Harlan cut him out of the will!"

"Harlan also cut everybody else out of the will," she says quietly, "and you've been thinking of giving the money back to them, haven't you?"

You deflate. "Yeah, I suppose. I don't know. Harlan made that decision himself--it's what he wanted, but it doesn't feel right to me. They've always been kind to us, well," you roll your eyes, "at least most of the time. And Meg was right: they're his blood family. It just feels _wrong,_ for some reason."

Marta takes a deep breath, as though she's steeling herself for something. She scoots down the bed until she's sitting against the headboard and facing you. 

"Y/N, I need to tell you something." Her voice is quiet, and she has that sick look on her face once more. "This...this is something I should have told you a long time ago. You can't say a word to anyone about it."

Your palms begin to sweat. "Marta, you're scaring me."

Her face falls. "When I left with Ransom he took me to a diner and he knew something was wrong. He forced me to tell him the truth."

"The truth about what?"

"I'm serious, Y/N. You can't tell anyone." She gasps. "Especially not Blanc!"

"What are you talking about? Why would I tell Blanc?" You don't like the way this conversation is going. It sounds too shady. "Marta, I took an oath to share any information presented to me that might be a danger to others."

Marta looks pained. "I know, and I'm so sorry to put you in this position."

You stand up from the bed, putting your hands on your hips and staring her down. "What happened?"

To your dismay, Marta's eyes well up with tears and her lower lip wobbles. She takes a deep breath, briefly looking to her bedroom door to make sure that nobody is coming before looking at you once more. What she says next makes your heart stop.

"I killed Harlan."


	8. An Unwelcome Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newwww chapter! I'm trying to stick reaalllyyy close to the plot of the movie, so if you know it well then you should be able to guess what's going to come next! 
> 
> And there might be more information into the mysterious past of Ransom and Y/N next time as well ooooooohhh
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews/kudos! <3

To say what Marta told you next was the hardest and most gut-wrenching thing you'd ever heard in your life would be an understatement. 

And you'd had to present your dissertation in front of a board and hear them pick it apart. 

_"I mixed the medicine and the morphine up."_

_"He wouldn't let me call the police."_

_"When I went back to talk him out of it, he already had the knife to his throat and he--oh, God, he killed himself. In front of me."_

At some point, you had slid down on the floor so that you were now leaning back against the bed. You couldn't look at Marta as she spoke, let alone sit on the same level as her. 

"Y/N, please say something." Marta's voice trembles above you, breaking you out of the daze you had lost yourself in the farther into her dark story that she got. "I need you. I need your _help._ I don't know what to do."

"What to do..." you mutter in disbelief, "Marta, what you just told me...I don't...I can't..."

"I know, I _know,"_ she says, and you hear creaking as she slides down the mattress and drops onto the carpet beside you, bringing her knees up to her chest and looking at you with teary eyes. "It's haunted me ever since it happened, it's keeping me up at night. And now with the inheritance going to you and me, I'm truly lost on what to do and I just need your help, I need my friend there with me." A tear slides down the side of her face as her lower lip wobbles. 

Your heart breaks, both at the truth of Harlan's demise and the obvious turmoil that Marta is going through.

"Marta," you whisper, throat thick with unshed tears, "this is...I don't even know _what_ to call it. You say that Harlan killed himself, but you also gave him 100 milligrams of morphine."

"I told Ransom earlier today what I told you. He forced me not to lie and made me tell him."

"Ransom." You say more to yourself than to Marta. How did he know that something was going on with Marta? Not even you knew. 

"He says that I should wait for it all to blow over and then just take the money like nothing even happened to begin with." Marta shakes her head, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "But I don't think I can do that."

You're stunned. This sudden revelation of what actually happened to Harlan has left you feeling more lost than you have in a _long_ time. 

"I don't know what to do, Marta. This is illegal in so many ways, even though Harlan did kill himself he technically would have...would have died from what you gave him." You choke out, turning to look your friend in the eye. 

"I'm scared." She whispers, and you find yourself breaking. You lean forward and tug her into your arms, letting her bury her head in your neck as she cries. You rub her back comfortingly, trying your best not to break down along with her. 

"We can figure this out. Together. You know I'm here for you always. You're my sister, Marta." 

"I feel better now that you know--much better than when just Ransom knew."

"But you need to know," you say cautiously, pulling back and giving her a second to compose herself, "we need to tell someone. This is big, Marta. They're doing an investigation for a reason, so somebody must have told them that something was wrong." 

Marta shakes her head. "I thought we should tell someone but Ransom said it wasn't a good idea."

"Ransom?" You question with a frown. "Since when are we listening to what Ransom says? This is a _life_ we're talking about, this is _manslaughter!_ Of our friend nonetheless!"

Marta flinches, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. "Ransom...he brought up my mother."

You freeze. Of course. Marta's mother is undocumented in the states, and if word of something of this size got out to the media, then the press would go wild at the story.

"Shit..." you hiss, running a hand over your face. "God, Marta, I'm not going to lie. This is a shit situation. Maybe if we talked to someone, like Detective Blanc--"

"We can't tell him!" Marta interrupts, shaking her head vehemently. "We can't tell the police at all."

"Marta, this isn't some _game."_

At that moment in time, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You both pause as you pull it out. You're surprised at the name that pops up on your screen. 

_Might Be: B Blanc_

"Don't answer it. You can't tell him, Y/N." Marta says quietly, her voice softly pleading with you. You look at her for a few seconds as your phone continues buzzing before coming to a decision. 

"I won't tell him," you acquiesce, "at least not yet. But I have to answer this."

You slide your finger over your screen before lifting the phone to your ear, feeling Marta watching you the whole time. 

"Hello?"

_"Y/N?"_

"Yes?"

_"This is Blanc. I apologize for callin' you at the late hour, but I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I woke up and saw you were gone."_

Shit. You hadn't left him a note or anything. "Uh, yes. I'm fine. I'm at Marta's right now, but I'm fine."

_"I could have given you a ride--"_

"No, no. That's okay," you rush, feeling yourself become more nervous the longer you're on the phone with him. What if you said something that would tip him off? "I didn't want to wake you up."

He's silent on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, and in those brief moments your heart speeds up and your palms start to sweat. Why does this one man make you feel like a bipolar thermostat?

_"Are you okay?"_

The question comes out of nowhere. "What?"

_"Are you safe?"_

Your eyebrows move up into your hairline. Marta looks at you fearfully, unable to hear what Blanc just said that's making you react like you are. 

"I-yes, I'm safe." You shake your head in disbelief. "What were you going to do if I said I wasn't, track my phone and come over here?"

_"Yes."_

The lack of hesitation in his response and seriousness conveyed in that single word throws you off guard. 

You compose yourself and decide to address the smaller piece of information that you've been presented with. "Blanc, how did you even get my phone number?"

_"I was given the contact information of all suspects by Lieutenant Elliot should I need to get in touch with any of 'em. I'm disappointed that I couldn't have gotten your number in a more dignified way, but these are unique circumstances, are they not?"_ Your mouth drops open in shock as you focus on what Blanc just said about getting your number. _"Either way, I'm pleased to know that there's nothin' wrong. I won't keep you and I'll let you get back to your activities."_

"I--okay," you finish lamely, unable to think of anything to say in response to his words. "Sounds...sounds good."

You think you hear him chuckle in the background. _"Have a pleasant evenin', Miss L/N."_

"You too, Blanc. Goodbye."

_"Until next time."_

You slide your finger over the 'end call' button and stare at the screen for a few moments, even after it goes dark. Marta is silent, chewing on her bottom lip while waiting for you to say something. 

_\--disappointed that I couldn't have gotten your number in a more dignified way--_

_\--are you safe--_

_\--what were you going to do if I said I wasn't, track my phone and come over here?--_

_Yes._

Benoit Blanc is officially the hardest to read person that you've ever met. Those sweet things he was saying, how he called to make sure you were safe and nothing was wrong, how he mentioned that he _wanted to get your number--!_

Surely it was just so that he could get your professional opinion on something at some point. That's the only logical explanation you can think of. 

"Thank you for not saying anything," Marta says quietly, tugging you out of your confusing thoughts. 

You take a deep breath. "Here's what I'm going to do: we're going to keep quiet about this," her eyes widen in surprise, "but only for a few days. I need to think about this, Marta. You can't throw something this big at me and expect an immediate answer. And even waiting a few more days could be dangerous because you've already known for a week about the truth. If that information gets into the wrong hands then it could make this bad situation even worse."

She relaxes, her relief almost palpable. "Thank you, Y/N. I feel much better now that you know."

You raise a brow. "More than Ransom knowing?"

She nods her head without hesitation. "Way better. Ransom says that Blanc is smart but he has no proof that we were involved."

You purse your lips. "It's true that he has no proof that I know of, but don't disregard Blanc's intuition. 

Marta watches you closely. "You speak as though you know him pretty well."

"I don't. I hardly know the man, and it's infuriating." You let out a frustrated breath. "Usually I can get an idea of a person but he...he's just impossible to do that with."

A slight tinge of apprehension enters Marta's eyes as she listens to you. "You like him."

"What? No!"

"You do."

"Marta, do you even _hear_ yourself right now--"

"This is exactly how you talked about Ransom when you first met him."

Your mouth twists unpleasantly at the sour memory. "That was also before I saw how he acted with people and realized how much of a dick he was. Let's not dig up the past."

"I know you and Ransom don't have a happy history, but I trust what he's saying about Blanc on this one. I think you should take his opinion into account. You've only known Blanc for a few days but we've known Ransom for years now."

"And he's been a dick that whole time!" You raise your voice and then immediately stop, not wanting Marta's mom or sister to come in and see what you're talking about. You force yourself to calm down before speaking again. "He makes _the help_ call him _Hugh._ He can't get your nationality right, let alone make a good call on a person's intelligence when he has none himself!"

Marta frowns at you. "You're right. _You're right._ I'm just grasping at straws, Y/N. He's familiar and Detective Blanc has the power to destroy my family."

"I don't think he's the kind of guy to do something like that," you whisper. 

"But we don't know for sure," she counters, her voice just as quiet. She leans her head back against the bed and closes her eyes. It's been a long night and you're bone-tired, wanting nothing more than to curl up under the blankets and sleep until this whole mess is over. 

"It's late," she says a few minutes later, sitting up and pushing to her feet, "we should get some sleep. We can focus on this more tomorrow. I'm tired."

"Me too," you agree, also standing.

Without even asking her she goes over to her dresser and gets you some pajama pants and a shirt. You had times in the past years where you would stay with Marta and her family for a few days on end, and though you don't have clothes here anymore since you bought your own apartment, you at least still have a toothbrush. 

You change in the bathroom and wash up before going back to her room and climbing under the blanket at her side. She switches off her lamp with a sigh and settles into her pillow, facing away from you. 

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Night Marta."

A brief pause. "Thank you for being here for me."

"I'll always be here for you. You're like my sister. Get some sleep."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

* * *

"Marta, get your ass up." Your eyes fly open to see Marta's sister standing in her doorway, face flushed. She greets you quickly before moving to Marta's side and shaking her shoulder roughly, drawing a groan from the groggy woman. "What the hell is happening? There's a guy here and a bunch of stuff, everything's going crazy, are we rich?!"

You blink your eyes at the onslaught of questions. Marta sits up, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe, I don't know."

Alice shakes her head. "I don't know what that means but you better get your ass up." She stalks out of the room and leaves the two of you fumbling to get ready to see what all the commotion is about.

You throw on a pair of her jeans and one of her larger sweaters before brushing your teeth and putting your hair up. You don't have time to style it and it's a gross wavy from sleeping on it all night. 

"Shit," Marta hisses when you walk back into her room. She's staring down at her phone. You pick yours up as well, noting that your battery is down to half charged and that there are over twenty missed calls. All of them are from Thrombey's. 

"They call you too?"

Marta nods, worrying on her bottom lip. You shove your phone in your back pocket and grab Marta's arm, forcing her to forget about them for a moment. When the two of you go into the living room you find her mom pacing in front of the tv that's currently broadcasting about none other than Marta Cabrera herself. 

"Marta, what did you do?" Her mother asks, wringing her hands together. All this publicity can't be good for the poor woman's nerves. 

"They're outside," Alice says in awe, taking a picture out of their window. You look and sure enough, there are news crews setting up with a few people already talking into cameras. 

"...we again don't know much about Marta Cabrera or Y/N L/N, or the exact relationship they had to Harlan Thrombey, beyond being his home nurses, and the Thrombey family has yet to release a statement." The woman on the camera pauses and lifts a finger to her ear, supposedly listening to something before nodding her head. "Jack, we've just received word that Dr. L/N is not answering her door, and the neighbors are saying they never saw her come home last night."

_They're talking to your neighbors!_

"They're looking for you too," Marta whispers. 

"I really didn't think this could get any worse." You mumble under your breath. 

"Is that true?" Alice asks excitedly. "Are we rich?"

"Oh my god," Marta looks out the window, her jaw dropping. 

You address Alice just to pacify her. "It's very complicated, Alice. We'll talk about it later."

"Are you rich?"

You cringe. "Later."

Marta's mom moves to the kitchen, scooping up a stack of papers and thrusting them into Marta's arms. "Lawyers were here, very big lawyers it looked like, and some other guys I didn't know, they left all this for you and business cards, so many business cards, and there was a pile of other stuff when I got home--"

"It's okay Ms. Cabrera," you say softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She relaxes at your touch, closing her eyes. When she opens them next she fixes Marta with a stern glare. 

"Hey. I don't like this."

"I don't like it either, Mom. We're going to slip out the back--I'll be back later, don't talk to anyone."

You open the back door and hold it for Marta since her arms are heavy with papers. You shut it after her and go to follow when you nearly run into her back since she came to a dead stop. 

"Hey," Walt says from the end of the hallway. You're shocked to see him here, considering you didn't even know he knew where Marta lived. He's wearing a pair of slacks and coat, his cane clutched tightly in his hand and his eyes are rimmed red. He must have had a rough night. 

"Hey." Marta greets cautiously. 

"How you doing?" Walt asks, taking a step forward. Marta tenses the tiniest bit. 

"Well. Walt, I want you to know I didn't know about any of this--neither of us did."

"I know you didn't," Walt holds up his hand placatingly, "we all went kinda crazy yesterday."

Marta nods her head quickly. "Understandable."

Walt glances at you. "You're both still very important to all of us, I want you to know that."

"I haven't even looked at all this yet, this legal stuff, is this from you guys?" Marta starts to shuffle through the papers, pausing when she glances at an envelope. Walt frowns at her. 

"It isn't from us. Maybe just local lawyers and accountants who saw the news and want to jump on it, I'd be careful of it all." Walt takes a deep inhale. "Marta, Y/N, is it your intention to renounce the inheritance?"

Your eyebrows raise at his bluntness. "This is what Harlan wanted, Walt."

"Well, Harlan has put you in a very hard position here. It was unfair of him."

You narrow your eyes. Walt tightens his hand on the handle of his cane. 

"You see, what this kicks up with the press and the scrutiny, and we know...with your mother..."

Marta looks up at him, eyes wide. "With my mother..." She stiffens. "What did Meg tell you?"

Walt shakes his head and takes another step forward. You watch him carefully, not liking the vibe you're getting from his stance and tone. 

"This isn't about who--you're missing the point, we're not attacking you with this."

You step forward so that you're closer to Walt than Marta is. "It sure sounds like you're implying something here, Walt."

Walt eyes you. His mouth twists into a frown. "Marta, if your mom came here illegally, _criminally,_ if you come into this inheritance with the scrutiny that entails I'd be afraid that could come to light. That's what we're all trying to avoid here." He steps forward and you step directly in front of Marta now, not letting him get any closer to her. "We can protect you from that happening, or if it happens."

"That's a threat, Walt. A vague one, but a threat nonetheless."

"That's not what I mean."

"But that's what it _is._ I'm sure your sister could tell you the same thing."

He hesitates when you mention Linda. 

Marta speaks up, peeking around you at the older man. "You're saying that even if it came to light, with the family's resources you could help me fix it."

Walt brightens. "Yes. The right lawyers, none of those local guys but New York lawyers, DC lawyers, enough resources put towards it, yes. But there's no need it should ever even come up. But yes." He turns back to you. "And your renouncement of the inheritance would also help to get the resources to assist Marta's mother."

If you weren't trained in schooling your reactions to things then Walt would be terrified of how angry you are right now. 

"Okay. Good." You mutter.

Walt looks at you in surprise. "Ok?"

You nod, acting innocent. "Because Harlan gave _us_ all your resources. So that means with _our_ resources we'll be able to fix it. So I guess we're going to go find the right lawyers."

Walt blanches, obviously not expecting you to react like this. "Y/N--"

"Inside, Marta." You say quickly. Walt hobbles after the two of you as Marta opens the door and slips inside. 

"You better be sure you want to--" you don't let Walt finish, choosing to slam the door in his face and lock it. You lean your forehead against the wood, hearing him thump down the hallway and away from the two of you. 

"Thank you, Y/N." Marta breathes. You nod your head. She's flushed and you can tell she's just as angry as you are. 

She snatches the envelope that she was looking at before off the pile she had been carrying and rips it open, angrily yanking the piece of paper out that was inside. Her eyes flicker over it quickly and she freezes, her face paling. 

"What?" You ask quickly, moving to her side and reading the paper over her shoulder. As you see what it is you feel once more as though someone has yanked the rug out from beneath you. 

_Office of the Chief Medical Examiner_

The toxicology report. half of it copied along with Marta's medical tag on the lower half of the paper. The results of the test are missing but you don't need to see them. There's writing on the bottom in what looks like a black sharpie. 

_I KNOW WHAT YOU DID_

Your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket. You take it out, your stomach twisting uncomfortably at the name. 

_Might Be: B Blanc_

Now is so not the time. You send the call to voicemail and look at your friend. Her hands are shaking as she stares at the paper and her breaths are coming out in small pants. You run a hand over your face. 

"This just keeps getting better."


	9. A Car Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy chapter ahead! There will be some references to assault, so if you're not comfortable with that then please skip it. 
> 
> I'm building a buffer of chapters during my free time, both for this story and my other story so that I can post them on time on the weekends when I'm not working on school work. 
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews/kudos!!!

You bounce your leg nervously in Marta's car as she drives to Ransom's. You didn't want to go there but after finding the incriminating letter you weren't sure what else to do, and as much as you hate to admit it, Ransom might be able to help. He's got the money to do so, even though he is fiscally irresponsible ninety-nine percent of the time. 

"You okay?" Marta asks, putting the car in park and glancing over at you. 

You thin your lips and nod your head. "Sure." _No._

She gives you a comforting look before opening her door and stepping out. Your phone rings in your pocket and you see that it's Blanc calling you, _again._ He called this morning before you left Marta's house and now he's calling again. You feel bad for ignoring him but you also know that talking to him right now would only make you feel worse. The possibility of revealing too much information lingers over your head now that you're more informed on the whole situation, and you don't want to lie to the man. Not after everything he's done for you. You lock your phone and pushing him to the back of your mind for now.

You take a deep breath before following, pausing to look at the spacious property that Ransom owns. It really is beautiful. His house is tall and open and modern, any architect's dream home. To you it's nothing but cold. There's no warmth in it, no attempt to make it even remotely homey like Harlan's was--is. You and Marta's house now. 

You sigh, following after Marta as she walks up the front steps to the door. She knocks on it quickly, fumbling with the letter in her hands. 

Ransom opens the door with a frown, obviously not expecting visitors. When he sees the two of you he quirks a brow, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Hello?"

"We have a problem." Marta explains, thrusting the letter into his hands. He opens it and glances at it, his frown deepening. He glances up at you quickly, looking back and forth between you and Marta. 

"What's she doing here?"

"I told her."

His eyes flash with anger briefly. "You _told_ her?"

You grind your teeth together. Marta rushes to dispel the tension forming between the two of you. "I had to, Ransom. Y/N is my best friend and she can help us."

"How? By running off to her little detective friend?"

"Shut _up,_ Ransom." You hiss, already beginning to feel that familiar throb in your temple that forms whenever you're around Ransom for too long. "You're lucky I'm not calling the cops on your ass right now."

He looks you up and down, swiping his tongue slowly over his upper lip. "And what? Get Marta locked up in the process?" He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Unlikely."

"Can we just focus on the current problem?" Marta interrupts, gesturing once more to the letter. 

Ransom lets out a breath and steps away from the door, allowing the two of you into the house. You follow him, uncomfortably familiar with the layout of his house. The two of you follow him into the living room and over to his couch. He sits down and starts looking more deeply into the contents of the letter, rubbing one hand over his chin. You perch yourself on the edge of his armchair, the memories from the last time you were in his house coming unwanted to the front of your mind. 

_"You know there's something here, something between us, Y/N."_

_"I'm only here because Harlan wanted me to check up on you, Ransom. Nothing more and nothing less."_

_Ransom chuckles humorlessly, moving to sit down beside you on his couch, his thigh pressed straight against your own. You shift an inch over as subtly as possible but he notices anyways. He frowns at you._

_"You're the one who kissed me, Y/N."_

_"No, I'm not. I may have been tipsy, but I wasn't too intoxicated to know that when we were at your grandfather's and I said_ no _you ignored me and cornered me in his study. You're a predator, Ransom."_

_His eyes burned at the accusation, his hand moving to your knee and squeezing tightly. "You just think that because you don't know the real me."_

_You push his hand off and stand, moving to the coffee table and picking up your purse. "I've seen enough of you to know that I don't_ want _to know the real you. I can see that no amount of help is going to change a thing about you, Ransom. Goodnight."_

_You scurry to the front door but he grabs your elbow, not letting go. You turn back to him with a snarl just in time for him to grab your chin with his other hand and force his lips to yours, his teeth clashing against your lips painfully. You let out a grunt at the assault and push him back on his chest before delivering a harsh slap across his face. His head turns to the side from the force of it and his delicate skin immediately turns red._

_When he turns back in your direction you expect to see anger, but all you see is satisfaction._

_"I've always liked them feisty." He grins, and you run out his front door to your car before he can think of touching you again._

The next time you had seen Harlan he knew something was wrong. He asked if Ransom had tried anything, knowing that there was something...off...going on between the two of you, but you simply reassured him that you were a big girl and could handle yourself. 

When you look at Ransom you find that he's smirking at you, probably thinking of the same thing you just were. You glare at him as his smile widens just the tiniest bit before he sets the envelope on his coffee table and studies the letter. 

"Well, I don't know what this is from." He says, gesturing to the dark spot on the letter. 

"It's my medical bag tag," even you knew that, "they have my medical bag for some reason."

"It explains why they couldn't find it at the police station with the other evidence," you say. 

"Okay, but this is just a photocopy of the header of a blood toxicology report, from the local crime lab." He glances up at Marta. "On Harlan. Marta, it would show the morphine overdose."

Marta pales and throws her hands in the air. "So I'm screwed! How do you even know all this stuff?"

"I was Harlan's research assistant for a summer," Ransom says absentmindedly, seemingly taking this whole thing seriously. You're surprised, to say the least, that Ransom can even _act_ seriously. "But what kind of blackmail scheme is this? I mean, the actual evidence is sitting up the street at the crime lab. What was the point of sending you this?"

"He's right," you agree, albeit reluctantly. Ransom raises a brow at you. "This is just a _copy_ of the toxicology, Marta. Someone still has the real copy out there, and there's more evidence of Harlan's blood at the lab. There's evidence that could still incriminate you even if we do find the person who sent you this letter."

Marta sinks onto the couch, looking lost. Your heart aches for her. 

"Let's go," Ransom says suddenly, standing up and looking down at Marta. "Let's go to the lab and see if we can do anything. Maybe we can stop this before it turns into an even worse situation."

"What are you suggesting?" You ask through narrowed eyes. "That we break into the lab and steal Harlan's blood and the original report? Ransom, that's just going to add to the list of laws that have already been broken."

Ransom shrugs with easy indifference, his playboy smile tugging at his lips. "Might as well try. I'm guessing at this point you're not going to rat us out to the police so we should at least see if we can do some collateral damage."

You scowl. "Ransom--"

"C'mon," he says slyly, walking over to you and leaning down to place his hands on the armrests of your chair, grinning down at you and forcing you to lean back in an effort to get away from him, "what have we got to lose?"

You have to refrain from kicking him between his legs. "Back away." Your voice is quiet but the threat is present in your tone.

"We can take my car," Marta steps up to your side, trying once more to get between you and Ransom, "your car would stick out."

Ransom lets out a short breath through his nose and straightens, looking at Marta. "I call shotgun."

* * *

"Holy shit. This is insane."

What Marta says could be considered an understatement in your book. 

What you see is nothing but _chaos._

The drive to the lab was short. You sat in the middle seat in the back while Ransom instructed Marta on how to get to the lab. Every once in a while he would glance back at you but you would look away, not wanting to engage with him more than necessary. 

The lab is utterly destroyed. There are firetrucks and police cars everywhere with DO NOT CROSS tape wrapped around the whole building. The firemen are still working on putting out the fire that must have caused the mass destruction, smoke billowing out the top of the holes in the roof and causing the sky to be an ashy gray instead of the clear blue it actually is. You think the one police car looks familiar but it's hard to tell when they all look practically the same.

"Get down," Ransom hisses suddenly, and the three of you scoot down in your seats. You unclip your seatbelt so that you can get out of sight easier. Looking forward, you see a couple of policemen walking around the front of the building discussing something, which is probably why Ransom suddenly got antsy. 

"Who would blow up a whole real official building just to blackmail me?" Marta asks, flabbergasted. 

"Marta, this means that the blackmailer has the only paper copy of the thing that can prove your guilt. You didn't get any other instructions, no phone call, no email, nothing?"

You think over Ransom's words. _How convenient that this happened?_

"Nothing...I didn't check my email though." Marta says, quickly pulling out her phone and scrolling through her messages. Her fingers tighten around the sides until they turn white. She thrusts her phone in Ransom's direction, eyes wide as he reads the message. 

"That's it," he says, tightening his jaw, "1209 Colombus Road, 10 am."

"It's already 9:32," you say, glancing at her dashboard clock. Marta frowns. 

Two of the people near the front of the building turn around in your direction. Your heart begins to pound loudly in your chest as you realize that one of the men is Benoit Blanc himself, with the other being Lieutenant Elliot. The wind blows his familiar trench coat away from his waist and his hair stands up in the air. He pauses once he's completely facing Marta's car, his hands slipping out of his pockets. He takes a step your way. 

Marta seems to have noticed the same thing you did because she's also staring at him. 

"You know what this means, right?" Ransom cuts in, trying to get her attention back on him. "If you destroy that copy you are totally within the clear."

Your breath quickens as Blanc starts walking towards the car. _Oh no._

"Marta, did you hear me?"

Blanc picks up his pace, breaking into a light jog. He yells something over his shoulder 

"Yeah," Marta breathes, peering over the steering wheel. Blanc is now running at the car. 

"He's coming," you say in an unnecessarily quiet voice, as though he can hear you, "Blanc is heading this way right now."

"What?" Ransom barks, whipping his head around to see the detective running in your direction. 

"Maybe now is the time we should talk to him."

"Are you _crazy?"_ Ransom shouts, turning blazing eyes onto you. He's angry--no, furious. "We'll all go to jail!"

"The building is _burned down,_ Ransom! This isn't a fucking game anymore! Someone is out to hurt Marta!"

"We're not talking to _anyone--"_

Ransom is cut off when Marta suddenly throws her car in reverse and steps on the gas. The two of you fly forward, his seatbelt catching him while you have to brace your hands on the back of their seats. 

You look over your shoulder to find Blanc standing there, watching the three of you driving away. He turns and runs back to the other police, and then you're out of view. 

"All right, Baby Driver." Ransom remarks sarcastically. 

"Marta, _what_ are you doing!?" You hiss, fumbling to clip yourself back into your seatbelt once more. 

Marta bites on her lower lip, eyes flicking back and forth between the road in front of her and her rearview mirror. You try to catch her eye but she's pointedly ignoring you. 

"You regret helping me yet?" Marta asks Ransom as you hear the telltale sound of a police siren. You look back and find three police cars quickly racing to catch up with you. 

"I regret not taking the Beamer." 

Marta's phone starts ringing. She glances at it, and you see Blanc's name pop up. She quickly denies the call. 

"Marta..." you say slowly. "You running like this isn't making anything better."

The first police car quickly reaches your tail, and Ransom squeezes the handle above the door tightly. "Are you flooring it?"

"Oh my god oh my god--I am _literally_ flooring it." 

The cruiser is now alongside you, and you move over and look out the window. To your horror, Blanc is in the back seat with the window down and waving his hand trying to get Marta's attention. He glances back and does a double-take when your eyes meet through the glass of the window. His face slowly morphs into a frown, his mouth dropping open in question. You look away first, unable to take the judgment in his eye. 

Your phone starts buzzing in your hand. You look down. _Maybe: B Blanc_

"Don't answer that." You look up to see Ransom turned around and glaring at you from the front seat. You frown at him. 

"You can't screen my calls, Ransom."

He snatches your phone out of your hand before you can react, slipping it into your pocket and pushing you back into your seat when you try to climb forward to get it from him. You flop back into the back seat from the force of his push, shocked. 

"This is going well," Ransom says, glancing at the police car to his right. 

"This is stupid," Marta says with a shake of her head, "I'm pulling over." 

"Yes!" You shout, relieved that she's finally making sense. 

"If you miss your shot at getting that tox report it's all over..."

"Ransom, stop _corrupting_ her!" You cry, nearly to your limit with the infuriating man-child. 

He whirls in his seat and points a finger in your direction, jaw tense and anger emanating off of him in waves. At this moment you actually feel a little bit of fear. 

"Shut _up._ You shouldn't even be here. I won't let you get all of us thrown in jail just because you have a loud conscience."

You stare impassively at him. Marta looks back at you every few seconds with worry. Ransom faces her again, his voice low. "This is your only chance, Marta."

You remain silent. Marta takes a deep breath, and then with a worried look in your direction, she slams on the brakes. You and Ransom cry out as you fly forward, the seatbelts being the only thing keeping you from knocking your head off the back of his seat. 

"Why are you stopping? You should _not_ be stopping." Ransom looks over at her like she's crazy. Marta waits until the cops have all passed her before pressing the pedal down again and taking the exit off the freeway. 

You cover your eyes, breathing heavily. This is all getting _so_ out of control. Running from the cops is not making any part of this situation any better. 

You look up just in time to see Marta turn into an alley, some pallets falling over and blocking the cop car behind you from following. Marta takes a sharp right into another alley and you grip the door to steady yourself so you don't slam your head into the window. 

"Jesus, Marta!"

One of the last cops drives straight into the corner of the brick building, crashing and stopping the last car from also following. Marta continues on down the alleyway and pulls into the parking lot at the back of an abandoned building. 

Marta takes a deep breath and puts the car in park before switching it off. You're all silent, breathing heavily as though you've just run a marathon. 

"Okay. I'm all just pure adrenaline now--it's like I swallowed bees. What's the, what's it called, what's the address?" Marta is obviously shaky as she looks to Ransom for guidance. You remain silent in the back seat. 

"1209 Colombus road." Ransom reminds her calmly, all the vehemence he directed at you earlier now gone. 

"And I just--I mean, whatever they want, I just say yes, right? Just to get that report back. And destroy it. Ransom, thank you. I couldn't do this without you." She twists in her seat and looks back at you. "And you, Y/N. Thank you."

You give her a tight-lipped smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You don't feel the best after having just taken part in a police chase and the chastisement from Ransom. 

Ransom sighs, nodding. Marta leans back in her seat and takes a deep breath like she hasn't done so in forever. She reaches forward to start her car again when there's a sudden tapping outside her window, causing your heart to race once more. 

You unbuckle and slide over, finding none other than Benoit Blanc standing outside her window stiffly. You look back and see the third cop car parked behind you and Lieutenant Elliot stepping out. 

Shit. 

Blanc steps back, giving you and Marta space to get out of the car. The three of you open your doors and climb out, holding up your hands to show you mean no harm. 

"That," Lieutenant Elliot says with a shake of his head as he slams his door shut, "was the dumbest car chase of all time. Put your hands down."

You hear someone step up behind you. "I spoke to Wanetta Thrombey, Greatnana." You turn to see Blanc towering above you, watching you with a questioning look. "The night of the party she saw someone climb the trellis to the third floor."

Your breath catches in your throat. _Marta._

"Mr. Drysdale, come with us please," Elliot says, walking over to Ransom and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. You watch in shock as Elliot and Wagner lead Ransom to the car and put him in the back seat. 

"What's going on?" Marta asks what you're thinking. 

""Ransom came back," she said. I don't know what he came back to do, but we'll find out." Blanc explains, turning away from you for the first time since you stepped out of the car and focusing on Marta. 

Marta glances down at her watch with worry. Blanc turns back to you, his lips quirking down. "I saw Ransom and you arguin' in the backseat. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

You swallow past the dry lump in your throat and shake your head. Blanc studies you for a few seconds before nodding slowly. He looks back at Marta. "Did he ask you to drive when he saw me coming?"

Marta glances at you briefly. "Yes."

_Oh no. She's going to throw up._

But Marta doesn't. Blanc purses his lips and walks over to Elliot and Wagner while you and Marta climb back into the car. She immediately grabs the empty soda cup from the front and pukes. 

"Holy shit, Marta," you gasp, unable to believe that she was able to hide it for that long. She quickly snaps the lid back on and puts it back in the holder, unshed tears shining in her eyes. 

"I'll drive with Marta," you hear Blanc call from outside the car as he walks to the passenger side and opens the door. He slips in and shuts the door, reaching for the seatbelt. "Let's go to the police station, I want a full rundown of everything he said to you, and I can catch you up on where we're at."

Marta looks at him in muted horror for a brief moment before she composes herself and puts the car in reverse. Blanc looks over his shoulder at you. 

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

You clear your throat. "Ransom took it from me." _Not a lie._

Blanc frowns. "You should've said somethin'. I could've gotten it back for you."

You shake your head. "I'll get it later." _If you're not in jail by then._

You glance up at the dashboard. 9:55. Five minutes until Marta is supposed to meet the person who's been blackmailing her. Your eyes meet in her rearview mirror, the same thought running through your minds.

Are you still going to be able to get there, after all that's happened?


	10. A Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Edit: continuity fix. Thank you Darkness93 for pointing it out!

You can feel the tension in the car as Marta follows after the police. Nobody is saying a word; Marta has a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and even from the back seat you can see how she keeps looking at the clock. Blanc stares out of the window, seemingly thinking. There must be a lot for him to process after what's happened in the last half hour. 

"Strange case from the start," Blanc mumbles to himself, startling you out of your own thoughts, "A case with a hole in the middle. A donut."

You frown. _A donut?_ Is this always what his thinking process is? 

Marta glances in her rearview mirror back at you before looking at you again. 9:58. Two minutes until she's supposed to meet up with her blackmailer. 

Jesus. A blackmailer. You can't believe that you allowed yourself to get this deep into everything. 

You spot it at the same time Marta seems to. _Colombus Road._

"A donut! One central piece, and if it reveals itself the fog would lift, the arc would resolve, the slinky become unkinked--"

"Do you mind if I stop for a second?" Marta interrupts Blanc's ramblings, and you look at her with wide eyes. 

_She's not seriously still thinking of going there? Not after everything that's happened!_

"I need to pick something up. It will be very quick." 

Blanc peers over at her, completely oblivious to the other purpose she has in mind. "Sure."

Marta turns down Colombus Road, driving down a small town. There are older buildings, some that are in desperate need of repair. She pulls into a spot just outside a hair salon. She unbuckles and looks back at you briefly.

"Will you come help me?"

Your heart beats loudly in your ears. Depending on what's going to happen, this could be very bad. The two of you could be walking into a trap for all you know. 

But then you think of how Marta must be feeling. _She's_ the one they're after, and damnit, if you're the only support she has then you're going to help her. 

"Yeah, of course." You say. Blanc also looks back at you, curious. 

Marta gives you a look of relief. "We'll just be a few minutes."

The two of you slip out of the car and shut your doors. The sound echoes through the somewhat empty town. 

Marta leads you into the hair salon, and for a second you're confused until you see that she's taking you out through the back and to the rear entrance of 1209--where you're supposed to be going. She opens the door, and with one hesitant look back at you, she walks inside. You stay close to her back, but don't move in front. 

The inside of this building must have been a laundromat, though it's obviously been abandoned for some time. There are a few old washers here and there, with newspaper scattered around. The door is slightly boarded up, but it looks more like they simply placed the pieces in front rather than actually nailing it in place. The place is pitch black, with only a few slivers of light shining through the windows and the door. 

"Hello?" Marta calls cautiously, taking a step forward and looking around. You wish you had your pepper spray right now. 

Marta jumps when her foot hits something, and you also startle. You both look down and see a bag on the ground. She crouches and picks it up, looking inside of it. She looks back at you with wide eyes. 

"It's my medical bag." 

You curse under your breath. This whole blackmail business is true. They really do know about Marta. 

You spot something else on the ground. You bend down slowly and pick it up. It's just a scrap of paper. The edges show that it was burnt. Who burned something in here?

Marta steps forward once more as you straighten. "Hello?" She calls again, her voice more confident this time. She takes her phone out of her pocket and turns the flashlight on. _Smart girl._ You wish you still had your own phone so you could do the same.

Silence is the only answer Marta gets. As she takes a step forward you walk to the left, noticing a muddled clump sitting on top of one of the abandoned washing machines. 

"Listen, I don't know what you want. Whatever you want we can work it out, but we have to figure it out right now, and I'm leaving with that report."

It's... _cloth._ But it's not dirty. You pick up the cloth between two fingers, barely pinching the fabric. There's no words or anything embroidered on it, though you can tell the fabric isn't _cheap._

 _What's that smell?_ You lift the fabric to your nose, inhaling. 

Marta screams, startling you and causing you to drop the fabric to the ground. You turn around just in time to see the person that she's apparently been standing over fall on their side to the ground. You gasp, making your way quickly over to her side. Marta stumbles back a few steps, right into your chest and jumps, screaming again. 

"It's me!" You shush her, grabbing her arms and holding her still. You step around and look down, gasping again. 

Fran. 

"Oh my god," you say, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. You grasp Marta's arm as she walks past and kneels down in front of Fran, checking her over. 

"She's been injected with morphine," Marta explains frantically, checking Fran's pulse and pulling over her medical bag. You notice the discarded needle off to the side.

Fran mumbles something, her wide eyes sunken into her pale face, angry at the world.

Marta leans in closer. "What?"

"...stashed..." She draws a raspy breath, "you...did this...won't get away...with this..." 

You watch in horror as Fran's eyes roll up inside her head and she starts to seize. Foam begins to trickle out of the corner of her mouth. 

"Marta!" You cry. She stands to her feet and clutches her bag tightly to her chest, eyes wide with fear. 

"She knows," she whispers, staring down at her. 

"She's dying, Marta." You say back, aware that your friend is in a very serious predicament right now. 

Marta glances back at you, once, teary-eyed and afraid, before steeling herself and getting down to Fran's side once more and pulling her phone out. She dials 911 before starting compressions. 

_That's the Marta I know._

"What can I do?" You ask, stepping around to Fran's other side and ready to help. 

The 911 operator begins speaking at the same time Marta does. "Go get Blanc. He might as well help." She's switched into her nurse mode, her orders precise and direct. As she begins talking to the operator and giving her the address you run to the door, yanking on the wood blocking it and throwing it out of the way. 

You switch the lock once it's cleared and fling it open before rushing outside and down the sidewalk to Marta's car. Your vision blurs and for a terrifying moment you're afraid you're going to pass out and fall onto your face, but after a few deep breaths the worst of it passes and you're fine once more. 

What's going on? Is that your adrenaline crashing? Is it anxiety?

You run up to the car window and start knocking on it furiously, scaring Blanc who had been listening to some music on his headphones. He jumps and looks up at you in confusion. 

"Come quick," you say, stepping back and giving him room to exit the car. You barely wait for him to shut it before you're taking off back to the laundromat. 

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He calls, jogging to keep up with you. 

You shake your head, lips thinned. How do you explain this mess? 

You lead him into the laundromat, and as he takes in the scene in front of him you can see the cogs turning. He doesn't say a word, just moves immediately to the other side of Fran and starts checking her pulse, a stern expression on his face. 

You go to crouch down by his side but your vision blurs again and the next thing you know your knees are hitting the ground a _lot_ harder than you intended. 

When your eyes clear you find yourself staring at the ground, palms spread out and holding you up. At least you were smart enough to stop your head from hitting the concrete. 

You hear your name being called, and when you lift your head you see Blanc in front of you. His eyes are swimming with concern, one of his hands resting on your shoulder. 

"--hear me? Y/N?" His voice cuts back in, sharp and clear. 

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," you say distractedly, blinking your eyes rapidly, "I don't know what..."

Wait. You look back over to the side where the fabric that you were inspecting is now laying on the ground. Was there something on it?

Your eyes widen with sudden realization. 

Chloroform. 

Fran was drugged, and you were unlucky enough to have inhaled some of the after-effects of it. 

"--I need you to tell me what's wrong with you," Blanc orders. He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, not wavering as he continues to give Fran compressions while Marta switches between checking her pulse and trying to get her to wake up. There's a tension in his shoulders as he continues working.

"I'm fine!" You cry, sitting back on your legs and accepting the fact that you're not going to be helpful right now. "Just help Fran!"

It continues like this for about five more minutes. Blanc continues the compressions and Marta assists him, trying her best to help your friend. The siren from the ambulance is heard before you see the vehicle pull in alongside the building and three men jump out. There's a fire department that's close in town, which would explain how fast they got here. They run into the building and gently push Marta and Blanc aside so that they can do their job. Marta falls back but stays close, watching as one continues what she was doing while the other two bring in a gurney. 

Blanc stands to his feet but moves out of the way, walking around until he's standing behind you. By the time the paramedics have Fran loaded up, you're surprised to find you're not a horrible mess. Marta stands to her feet as well and walks over to you, crouching down. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Her voice is quiet, raw with unshed tears. 

You nod, unable to get a single word out. She extends a hand and pulls you to your feet, you barely waver, but Blanc reaches out and grabs your elbow to steady you anyways. You give him a nod in thanks, not meeting his eye. 

What must he think after all of this? Does he suspect anything? Obviously he's going to suspect something--the two of you just found Fran on death's door in an abandoned building. How would the two of you possibly find yourselves in a situation like this unless there was more you weren't telling him?

God, sometimes being able to put yourself in other people's shoes really _sucked._

"I'd like to go with them." Marta tells Blanc, clearing her throat. 

You don't look at Blanc so you can't tell what he might be thinking. You just watch as Fran is taken out to the ambulance and put in the back. Two of the medics get in the back and the third goes around to the front to drive. 

"Of course," Blanc murmurs, and then you feel him press a hand to your back and lead you out of the building. You glance over and see he's doing the same to Marta. He must want to get out of here as much as you do. 

The three of you get back in Marta's car. You slide in the back, keeping your eyes down. Marta's hands are shaking as she puts the car in drive and pulls out after the ambulance. 

"Do either of you care to fill me in?" Blanc's voice is quiet but he might as well have spoken through a megaphone with the way it echoes in the car. 

You don't say anything, and neither does Marta. Blanc turns in his seat and looks back at you. You keep eye contact for a mere three seconds before turning your head and looking out the window, ashamed of the secrets you've been keeping from him. He's been nothing but genuine and helpful, and you've been nothing but tight-lipped and closed off. 

"Okay," he says after a minute, and then he finally faces forward again. You don't have to see his face to know he's disappointed. 

* * *

You sit in the waiting room, Marta between you and Blanc. You don't think you can handle his judgment right now. You're so... _disappointed_ in yourself. You're better than this, you know that. To have let things escalate like this is unforgivable. 

But then you look over at Marta, hunched over in her seat and leg bouncing at a thousand miles an hour. Her hands are clasped together tightly in her lap and she's staring straight at the floor, biting her lip. Blanc is on his phone, and it doesn't take a genius to know he's talking to someone back at the police station. Marta's tense and you would try to comfort her--putting your hand on her shoulder or even her knee just to get her to _stop_ bouncing like that--but your own nerves are too wired at the moment to be able to do even that. 

You couldn't _not_ be there for Marta. Not when she's in a situation like this, so deep and twisted as it may be, when she obviously needs you now more than ever. What kind of friend would you be if you abandoned her at her lowest?

"All right my friend, thank you for the update." Blanc is talking on his phone again. "No, I'm here with them. No need for that, I'll bring them in once we get word that the housekeeper is stable. It's still touch and go. All right." Blanc hangs up his phone, sighing as he slips it back into his front pocket.

 _Them._ Oh, god. You feel sick. It's only natural that you'd be brought in with Marta--you were technically aiding a criminal, though that's hardly a word you would use to describe Marta. What's going to happen now?

"This is over," Marta speaks, shaking her head, "people are getting hurt. I'm going to tell you the truth."

Blanc takes a deep breath. "Young Ransom just told Lieutenant Elliot everything...who just told me everything."

Marta sits up, nodding. "Good. Wait, I hope he didn't cover for me." You have to suppress an eye roll. There's no way Ransom would do something selfless like that. "Did he tell the real truth, about me switching the--"

Blanc interrupts her. "Yeah."

"And the disguise and all the--"

"Yes."

"And the blackmail with the--" 

"Mhm."

Marta slumps back in her chair. This time you do reach over and lightly place your hand on her arm, just briefly, but it's enough for her to look at you. She's sad, and you can tell that she feels guilty. 

_Don't,_ you want to tell her, _this was my choice. I_ chose _to get involved in this with you. It's nobody's fault but my own._

"But why did Fran take my morphine?" Marta asks, more to herself than either of you. "Obviously she had swiped my bag from the house, but she didn't seem like a user to me, unless that's why she needed money..."

 _A user._ Your mind flits back to the cloth. Fran was drugged, of that you're pretty certain, but how did she get there? She _did_ say Marta did it, which makes you think that maybe you're just overthinking and that maybe Fran was the person behind the whole thing. 

"I don't know. Doesn't matter. I should tell the Thrombeys myself, I feel like I owe that to them." 

You jerk your head over in Marta's direction. 

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"You can't seriously be thinking about doing that right now."

You and Blanc speak at the same time. You stiffen, trying your hardest to ignore his gaze on you as you continue looking at Marta. 

"No, I need to do it. I won't do any of this if I can't do that. I really need to. I gave the doctors my number, they'll call if anything changes with Fran."

Blanc hesitates. "We'll round up the Thrombeys at the house, along with a police escort."

"For the arrest after," she says pointedly, looking him in the eye. Blanc looks uneasy, but nods. 

"You can tell me your whole story on the drive over. I want no more surprises."

Marta nods and then pulls out her phone. Her mom's ID pops up on the screen, and she pauses.

"You should answer it," you tell her softly. She nods. 

"I'll be right back."

Blanc looks at her. "Just stay close."

Marta stands and walks away a few feet over to the vending machines, leaving you and Blanc relatively alone. You sigh, putting your head in your hands. 

"Did you know?"

The question catches you off guard. You honestly weren't expecting him to speak to you. You thought he wouldn't want to even look at you after hearing everything that Elliot apparently told him. 

You sit up straight, watching Marta speak on the phone. She looks sad. 

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Does it matter?"

"To me it does."

You finally look over at him. He's already watching you, pensive. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, his mouth set in a firm line. He's upset. 

The two of you watch each other for a few seconds before you face forward once more. "I found out last night. After I left your place."

"Should I even ask why you didn't tell me?"

"Detective Blanc," you say, turning in your chair to give him your full attention. His frown deepens as you use his title as a reminder of who he is and hope to help him see _why_ you couldn't tell him. "What would you have done if I had called you as soon as I knew? Would you have turned a blind eye and said nothing, or would you have turned her in immediately?"

Blanc is the silent one this time. He lets your words hang in the air. 

"I remember your talk about gravity's rainbow," you say quietly, "I know how dedicated you are to your job. I wouldn't have expected nor _asked_ you to change who you are. Not for Marta, and certainly not for me."

Blanc looks conflicted. "It didn't need to be like this."

"It is what it is," you close your eyes, trying hard not to get overly emotional. With everything that's happened in the past 24 hours you want nothing more than to just curl up and sleep it all off, but you know there's no way that's going to work. "If Marta is renouncing the inheritance then it's only right that I do as well. I'm already aware that I'm going to get arrested with her. I knew what I was getting into."

"Now, Y/N--"

"No." You interrupt him. You look at him, eyes burning and you're mortified when a tear slides down your face. You turn away quickly, hoping that he doesn't notice it but already knowing that he does. "This has gotten more out of hand than I wanted it to. I'm fixing it, Blanc."

Had you still been looking at Blanc you would've seen the sad look he gave you. You would have seen how his hand stretched out across the empty seat between you, wanting to give you comfort in the same way you have given it to Marta. But then you also would have seen how his face fell and he withdrew his hand, putting it back on his lap. And that would have crushed you. 

So maybe it's for the best that you saw none of it. 


	11. A Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! This is the part that I originally thought of that inspired me to write this story in the first place. This chapter is very dialogue-heavy, and since it's mainly verbatim from the movie I decided to write TWO chapters for this week! 
> 
> That means I've written three chapters this week (one for my other story that has been long-time coming). I'm exhausted haha
> 
> Just wanted to let you guys know that AO3 is making changes right now and that hits/kudos won't get counted unless you're logged into an account. You can read more information on their twitter, I'd check it out. 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos!
> 
> Edit: had to fix a continuity mistake. Shoutout to Darkness93 for bringing it to my attention!

Marta tells Blanc the whole story on the way back to the estate. He doesn't say a word, just looks out the window and watches the countryside pass by. It sounds like once Marta starts talking she doesn't seem to know how to stop, so you're forced to once more hear the harrowing tale of the demise of your friend from the backseat. 

Now _you_ want to vomit. 

"...said it was stashed, the copy, then she told me 'you did this, you won't get away with it' and then I called the ambulance. And that's it." Marta finishes quietly. She pulls into the driveway and pulls through the security gates, not stopping until she's parked in front of the house once again. She turns off the car and slumps in her seat, staring at the front doors. 

"All right," Blanc says quietly, "are you ready?"

Marta shakes her head but doesn't look at him. She unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her door. You do the same, stepping out at the same time as Blanc. The two of you briefly make eye contact before you step around the car to Marta's side and follow her inside the house. 

The police aren't here yet, but they will be soon, that much you're sure of. Will they call in multiple officers or will Lieutenant Elliot be enough by himself? You shudder, not looking forward to the whole affair. 

Marta opens the door and steps inside. She stops so suddenly that you almost walk directly into her back, but you manage to catch yourself. You look up to see Richard, Walt, and Meg standing in the foyer. Meg looks down at the ground, refusing to meet your gaze. 

"Ah, okay, have they to their senses?" Richard claps his hands together, looking between the two of you. 

"They're standing right there, Richard, they can speak for themselves--"

"Is the rest of the family here?" Blanc interrupts, stepping in front of the two of you after shutting the door behind him. 

"In the living room," Walt gestures to his left. 

Blanc nods, walking towards the room. "I think maybe, if we could..."

"Marta, Y/N." 

The two of you turn around to Meg, who has started crying. Marta holds out her arms and Meg steps into them, weeping into her shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I told them about your mom. I'm sorry I called you and manipulated you like that. I was angry and scared, I'm sorry."

Meg moves over and hugs you as well. It feels nice for a brief moment before you remember why you're here. 

"It's okay, Meg. I understand. Believe me. It's all right." Marta soothes her. 

"God, I am _so_ raiding Fran's stash after this." Meg laughs weakly before moving into the living room with the others. 

"Come on, let's get this over with," you say, about to follow Meg when Marta grabs your sleeve and stops you. You look back at her in confusion. "What?"

"I still think this is a bad idea, but the family is assembled," Blanc says, walking out of the living room in your direction. He stops when he sees the look on Marta's face.

"I know where the tox report is." Marta tugs on your sleeve and leads you into the drawing-room, Blanc's footsteps not far behind. 

It's when Marta walks up to the clock that it hits you. "Holy shit."

"What?" Blanc asks at your side, behind on whatever conclusion the two of you have reached. 

"She practically told me where it was," Marta says, opening the bottom of the clock and shuffling things around. "Anyway, this'll tie everything up." Marta steps down and hands the piece of folded-up paper out to Blanc, who's slow to take it from her. "And I just handed it to you, god you're not much of a detective are you?"

You let out a startled laugh at that. Marta, as scared as she may be at this moment, manages to throw you a weak smile. 

"To be fair," Blanc says slowly, "you're a pretty lousy murderer." He turns his gaze to you, looking at you over the tops of his glasses. "And you're a lousy accomplice. Perhaps we deserve each other."

You give another weak laugh, shaking you're head and unable to believe the situation you just found yourself in. You turn around, putting one hand on your hip and rubbing your forehead, trying to process everything that's happened to you in the past day. Truly a rollercoaster if you've ever been on one. 

"I'm ready. Are you ready?" Marta asks you, rubbing her hands along her thighs. 

You clear your throat, shoving your hands in your pockets and nodding. You force a smile, strained as it may appear, and start walking towards the living all the while feeling a certain detective's eyes on your back. 

* * *

Everyone is waiting in the living room when you get there. Linda, Richard, and Walt are sitting in the front chairs with the rest spread between the couch and standing behind them. The image reminds you of a jury and considering you and Marta are the accused it seems only fitting. 

Lieutenant Elliot and Trooper Wagner are off to the side, another officer you've never met before standing with them. Their faces are sympathetic, as though they know what you're about to do and know what's coming but still manage to feel bad about it. 

Ransom is standing behind the rest of the family, hands shoved in his pockets and a serious look on his face. His mouth twitches when you lock eyes, and you're ashamed to admit you're the first to look away. You want to be mad at him, furious even, that he ratted Marta out to the police, but you also know that you wouldn't want someone taking the fall for a crime you had committed. The best thing you can do at this point is just be the shoulder for Marta to lean on, especially if that shoulder doesn't belong to Ransom. 

Useless bag of dicks that he is. 

"Um," Marta starts shakily, taking a cautious step forward, "you guys have always been good to me--"

"And me," you add, trying not to flinch when everyone's eyes move to focus on you. You've spoken in front of crowds before, you can handle this. 

Of course, the circumstances were different for those times. 

Marta takes a breath. "And what I'm about to say isn't going to be easy, and you're going to be upset, but especially after everything you've gone through the past few days, I thought you deserved to hear it from me."

Walt smiles at her, nodding his head. Linda takes hold of Richard's hand while the rest of them look between one another in confusion. But you can still see the excitement on their faces; they know what's coming. 

Marta straightens her stance and you prepare yourself for their reactions. Will they sit in shock? Will they wait for her to finish before saying anything? Or will they all attack at once, leaving you and Marta to try to fight them off? Maybe fighting back would make things worse. 

Then you look over at Elliot and Wagner in the corner. They wouldn't let anything happen to you, right?

You glance over your shoulder, seeing Blanc reading over the report Marta gave him just outside the living room. Yesterday you would have believed that Blanc would have done everything he could to stop the two of you from getting hurt, but after what you've told him you're not so sure anymore. 

You and Marta look at each other. You give a nod. It's time. 

She opens her mouth. "I need to tell you that I--"

"Excuse me!" Blanc suddenly shouts, startling everyone. He comes rushing back into the room, the toxin report clutched tightly in his hand. "You have not been _good to them._ You have all treated them like shit to steal back a fortune that you lost and _they deserve._ You're a pack of blood vultures at the feast, but you're not getting bailed out, not this time." He shakes his head with a deep chuckle, though there's no humor in it. "Miss Cabrera and Miss L/N have decided definitively not to renounce the inheritance."

Your mouth drops open in shock, as does just about everyone else's in the room. 

"What?" Walt is the first to speak up. 

"What?" You ask as you spin around. Blanc's pupils are blown, his jaw set and stance practically screaming _fight! fight! fight!_

"Furthermore it will be my professional recommendation to the local authorities that the manner of death in the case of Harlan Thrombey is ruled as suicide, and the case is _closed."_

Ransom steps forward with an angry frown, eyes narrowed. _"What?"_

"Blanc, _what_ are you talking about--" You go to say, but he simply grabs your wrist and sends you a silencing look.

"Thank you all for coming. Goodbye." He nods once and then he's leading you out of the room, his other hand on Marta’s back and pushing her along with you.

"Blanc," you hiss as you stumble along after him towards the library. He doesn't say a word until the three of you are in there, and then he releases his hold. "What are you doing?"

"I want to come clean, this is over--" Marta starts, but Blanc shakes his head. 

"Almost."

Lieutenant Elliot jogs in, gesturing back towards the living room with confusion. He stops, planting his hands on his hips and expecting an explanation. "What--with--what?"

Blanc shakes his head. "I'm sorry--officer Wagner!" Wagner stops in his tracks, just behind where he was following Elliot. He looks at Wagner with his head cocked to the side. "Please keep the family out of this room and get them out of the house if you can. But stand by with your additional officer."

"Get the family out?" He asks, looking to Elliot for clarification. 

"Yes, but not all of them." Blanc walks over to his side and whispers something in his ear. His eyes widen and he nods before turning back and walking out of the library. 

"Blanc c'mon, what's all this drama?" Elliot's voice gets a hint of impatience.

"This isn't the time, Blanc." You say quietly, and the man in question turns to you. He takes two small bottles out of his pocket before he shucks his jacket off and throws it over the back of the couch. 

"Indulge me." 

Marta sits down on the footstool, looking up at him pleadingly. "Blanc. I told Ransom, Ransom told you, I'm telling you now--it is an immovable fact that I killed Harlan!"

You try not to wince at her words. You don't think it will ever get easier to hear her say that. 

Blanc shakes his head. "Yes you did, yes he did, yes you are, but. _But."_

"But _what?"_ You ask, exasperated. 

Blanc steps towards you, an excited gleam in his eye. "I spoke in the car about the hole in the center of this donut." _His ramblings?_ "An yes, what Marta and Harlan did that fateful night seems at first glance to fill that hole perfectly. A donut hole in the donut's hole. But we must look a little closer. And when we do, we see that the donut hole has a hole in its center--it is not a donut hole at all but a smaller donut with its own hole, and our donut is not whole at all!"

You can't stop yourself from lifting your hand and pressing the back of it to his forehead. He seems surprised by the action but doesn't move. 

"You don't feel warm," you murmur, making sure that what you're feeling is right, "are you feeling okay?"

Elliot glances between the two of you briefly before shaking his head. "Blanc, I understand this is amusing for you--"

Blanc reaches up and grabs your hand in both of his gently, lowering it and staring you in the eye. "Why. Was. I. Hired? Why would someone hire me?"

"You don't know why you were hired?" You frown.

He shakes his head. "An anonymous letter showed up at my apartment with Harlan's obituary. No name, just a stack of cash."

_That's why Harlan's obituary was on his kitchen table._

"Someone fishing for any crime that could help reverse the will." Elliot shrugs. 

"So that means someone from the family hired you." My voice is quiet, the realization hitting me. Blanc nods, urging me to reach the same conclusion that he has. 

"I was hired before the sealed will was read. Yes, the person must have known the contents of the will. But one step further--that same person must have known a crime was committed, and further, if the intent was the reverse Marta and Y/N's inheritance, they must have known that one of them was responsible." In the back of your mind you acknowledge that Blanc has yet to release your hand, and if you weren't so blown away by the revelation he's laying in front of you then you would better be able to appreciate how warm and strong his hands feel. "An intriguing combination of factors. Someone who knew what Marta did, wanted to expose it and get the two of you to renounce your inheritance, but couldn't reveal _how_ they knew."

"Fran?" Marta questions. "She was blackmailing me, she knew what I did."

"But Fran wanted money, ergo she did _not_ want the crime exposed." Blanc corrects her. He takes a roll of tape and tears two strips off before putting one on each of the bottles he had earlier.

"I don't think Fran knew you did it, Marta," you interject quietly, thinking back to the laundromat, "I found a cloth in there that was soaked in a chemical. I think someone drugged her with chloroform, and then gave her the morphine."

"That's why you were acting funny?" She asks with concern. 

You nod sheepishly. "I inhaled a little bit of the cloth. Tenth-grade chemistry failed me at that moment. I know not to inhale strange substances like that."

"Dear girl," Blanc chides, urging you to sit on the stool beside Marta, "take a seat before you collapse again. You should've said something."

You blush, trying (and failing) not to look too deep into his concern over you. It's just him being a gentleman, nothing more. "I'm fine now, I promise. I didn't inhale enough to really do anything, just throw off my balance for a few minutes."

"Please say something if that changes. It would be a shame for you to pass out when I'm about to close this case." 

"Close?" Elliot asks. 

Blanc drops your hand and starts pacing, moving towards the wheel of knives. You try not to focus on how much colder your hand feels now that his are gone. 

"Did someone in the family see Marta doing something suspicious?" Elliot asks. 

Blanc starts unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up. You're not sure if he's just feeling warm or if he's trying to prove something. Either way, you find you have to force yourself to look at his face instead of his arms so you don't miss what he's saying. 

"They would have had no reason to not speak up. No." He shakes his head. "The answer is not so simple." 

Blanc turns around and scratches his head before he sits in the chair at the center of the wheel of knives. This is the most animated you've ever seen him, and even though he's excited, he also seems resigned. He lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at nothing in particular. 

"Now with the entire solution in my field of view, the arc of this case is a tragedy of errors. And Marta, Y/N," he looks over to you, remorseful, "it will not be easy to hear this. But there is at least one truly guilty party behind it all, guilty in the true sense of acting with malice, and committing a heinous crime with selfish intent." He looks over to the entrance of the library. "Trooper Wagner!"

Lieutenant Elliot straightens, his hand moving over to hover near his hip, where you know his gun is.

Marta sits up straight, shocked. "Trooper Wagner?"

Blanc turns to her, squinting. "What? No."

Footsteps echo as Wagner and whoever this mysterious second person walks into the library. Your fingers curl into your fist, so tight that you can feel your fingernails almost piercing the skin. Your heart is racing in your chest, your pulse so fast and so loud that you can hear it in your ears. 

And then you see him. 

Ransom. 


	12. A Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos!

Your stomach sinks. You look over at Marta, but she's confused. Wagner keeps a tight hold on his arm while Ransom throws his hands up with a shake of his head, genuine regret on his face. 

"Marta, I'm sorry. I told them everything, I figured it was all up. I'm sorry."

You narrow your eyes, the surprise melting away and leaving nothing but anger in its place. 

"You're _sorry?"_ You hiss. Ransom cuts over to you, lips thinning. 

"It's alright Ransom, I'm glad you did." Marta says, still not seeing what Blanc is spelling out. 

"Not exactly everything, though," Blanc interjects, standing from his chair and stepping forward, his hands shoved in his pockets nonchalantly. Wagner ushers Ransom around and has him sit in a chair as well. 

"Is this about what Greatnana told you? She saw _me_ that night, she mistook me for Ransom." Marta explains, pushing to her feet and stepping towards Ransom. 

You stand and grab her elbow, stopping her from getting any closer. She looks back at you, her brows furrowing. 

"Don't protect him, Marta."

"We'll get to what Greatnana said," Blanc says, breaking the moment, "but first, Mr. Hugh Ransom Drysdale, you might tell us all why you hired me."

Ransom frowns, and even you weren't expecting that. "Why I hired you?"

Blanc shakes his head with a smile and waves his thumb over his shoulder. "You're right, let's back up. To the night of the party. Your argument with Harlan. What were the overheard words by the Nazi child masturbating in the bathroom--'my will' and 'I'm warning you'. You and Harlan were drama mamas, you shared a love of twisting the knife into one another. I don't believe he would have slipped it in halfway--no, I submit that Harlan told you everything."

"Marta," Blanc holds a hand out to your friend, "remind me what Ransom said his conversation with Harlan ended with?"

Marta looks at him with confusion. "...Harlan told him that Y/N and I could beat him in Go."

Blanc nods. "And I asked myself, 'Y/N? Marta? Why would the topic of the will have steered around to them?' There is one obvious explanation."

You turn to Ransom slowly, folding your arms over your chest and setting your feet. "You knew. Harlan told you that he changed the will so Marta and I got everything."

Ransom opens his mouth before shutting it quickly. He schools his features into one of nonchalance and shakes his head. "That is some heavy-duty conjecture."

Blanc shrugs. "Granted. But it's the only way what comes next makes sense." Blanc starts to talk with his hands, waving here and there. "So you storm out, you drive off into the night. You tell Marta later of, what was it," Blanc rolls his eyes, "feeling an overwhelming sense of..."

"...Clarity. That he has to make do for himself from here on out." Marta turns to look at Ransom and you know that she's finally seeing him for what he is.

"Exactly." Blanc says pointedly. "Marta. Y/N. The will. Harlan. Do for yourself. 'You won't get away with this'. And a plan forms. You return, careful to avoid the gate's security camera range. Then on foot up towards the house, you sneak in, up the trellis so as not to be seen by the rest of the family, who are still having their party downstairs. What you need to do will take moments. But it is essential you are alone, and undetected."

Blanc moves over to pick up Marta's medical bag from where Lieutenant Elliot threw it on one of the chairs. He must have given it to him to take as evidence. He shakes it, emphasizing the importance of the object. 

"You knew what medications Harlan took. You knew what Marta would be injecting him with that night. And you knew if Marta was responsible for his death, even unintentionally, the slayer rule would nullify the changed will, and you would get your share back." Blanc throws the bag back down and turns to you. "And you knew that Y/N's good conscience would have her support Marta, making her also renounce her inheritance."

"At least he hoped so," you say, facing Ransom. His eyes narrow imperceptibly as he stares you down. "He didn't want me getting involved. He told Marta not to tell me at all."

"It's true," Marta says, "Ransom said we couldn't trust her, but I had to tell her. She wouldn't have known at all if I hadn't called her."

"Is that so?" Blanc asks quietly, searching your face for _something._

You nod. "Even if I hadn't known, I probably would have renounced it with Marta. I wouldn't have been able to take the pressure from the Thrombey's on my own, not after the way that Walt showed up."

"Walt pressured you?" Blanc asks, a hint of anger slipping into his voice. 

"We can get to that later," Elliot interrupts, gesturing to Ransom, "just keep going."

Blanc watches you for a few more moments before continuing. "Ransom used the syringes in the kit to switch the liquids in the two medication vials. And as a final precaution, he took the Naloxone, the life-saving antidote."

"No, no that's impossible," Marta whispers.

"It is the truth. Hand me that vial of morphine, I'll show you."

Marta moves over to the table with the two vials. "If he did that, if the meds were switched," she places the first vial she picked up back down and picks up the second one, holding it out to Blanc absent-mindedly, "then when I got them mixed up..."

Your face falls, a tight squeezing sensation settling over your heart. "Marta switched them back. She gave Harlan--"

"--the correct doses." Blanc finishes gently. He looks between you and Marta apologetically. "Yes. See, I taped over the labels of these two vials." He walks over and picks up the other one, holding it up. "The vials themselves are completely identical. How did you know that this was the morphine?" He rips the tape off the one Marta handed him, showing that he's holding the morphine.

Marta blanches. "I...just knew."

Blanc sets the vials back down. "You knew because there is the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between the liquids. You knew because you had done it a hundred times. You have him the correct medication." Blanc places a hand on Marta's shoulder, leaning in. "Because you are a _good nurse."_

Marta flounders. "Then Harlan was..."

Blanc's face pinches. "I'm sorry, Marta. But yes. Harlan was perfectly fine."

You gasp, one hand covering your mouth. Marta looks back at you, her eyes red with unshed tears. _Harlan didn't need to die?_ He would have been fine, Marta didn't give him the incorrect dosage. 

"His blood was normal," Blanc pulls out the tox report and unfolds it, handing it to Marta, "the cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some damage to the trellis and a few amateur theatrics. Y/N is guilty of even less than that. In fact if he had listened to you, he would be alive today."

You should feel relieved at that. You're not going to jail, and neither is Marta. You're both innocent. But the fact that Harlan could still be alive, that this whole mess could've been avoided, makes you sick to your stomach. Marta sinks into the chair that Blanc had been sitting in, obviously having a hard time accepting his words. You feel the exact same. 

Lieutenant Elliot lets out a low breath, pushing off the couch with a shake of his head. "Damn."

Blanc shakes his head. "A twisted web, and we are not yet finished untangling it. Not yet. Marta, when Greatnana spotted you climbing down the trellis she said 'are you back again already?' _Already?_ Because earlier that night she saw him coming down the trellis after mixing the medicine."

Ransom scoffs, shaking his head with a laugh. "Come on, Marta." He looks at Blanc. "This is stoopid with two o's, and you don't have a shred of evidence. You're just spinning a fairytale."

Blanc ponders his words. "Not a shred, no, just as we have no real proof of Marta's mixing up the vials so it's your word against--"

"You have her confession, the both of them!" Ransom's voice is sharp. You and Marta look over at him, bewildered. 

"That doesn't sound like something someone who was innocent would say, Ransom." You say quietly, your voice full of malice. Ransom smooths his features and glares right back at you. 

Blanc steps between you and Ransom, cutting off the line of sight. "Right, we do have that. If you'll indulge me, I'd like to spin a little further. Much later that night you would have to come back to the house, to break back in and retrieve the incriminating tampered vials. However, this time the dogs were outside. They barked. Waking Meg. No matter, you'll get the vials tomorrow." Blanc paces back and forth once again. "But tomorrow brings news not of a medical error and a guilty nurse, but of a slit throat and a suicide?!" 

You wince. Blanc looks back and gives you an apologetic look. 

"Now, the circumstances are perfect for the anonymous hiring of me: you know a crime has been committed by Marta, you need her to be caught for it and you need Y/N involved, yet you cannot reveal how you know. Enter: Benoit Blanc."

Lieutenant Elliot rolls his eyes. "Benny, look, I hear what you're saying--"

Wagner shushes him, an excited grin on his face. He's obviously enjoying every second of this while you find you want to anywhere else in the world at this moment. 

"The body was discovered early the next morning. The police, the medical examiners, the family, everyone swarms in, and there is no possible way for Ransom to get to Marta's medical bag to remove the vials. You must wait for your moment, when the investigation is over and you know the house will be empty."

You shake your head. "That's why you skipped the funeral. You couldn't even go to your own grandfather's funeral, but I don't know why I'm surprised when you're the one who _murdered_ him."

Ransom bares his teeth at you. "Hey, I didn't murder anybody--"

"That's true, Y/N, Mr. Drysdale here didn't kill anyone. Harlan did commit suicide." Blanc says, though he sounds reluctant to agree with Ransom. He continues on, ignoring the withering look you throw his way. "There was no one home to wonder why you're going into Harlan's study. Or so you think." 

"Fran," you whisper. 

Blanc nods. "Poor Fran. She witnessed you tampering with Harlan's medication in the medical bag. She didn't know what you were doin', but she knew you were up to no good. And so her mind begins to turn."

"That movie she was telling us about," you say to Marta, "with Danica McKellar, that's what she was talking about--"

"Deadly by Surprise." Wagner inserts, happy to be a part of the conversation. You nod slowly. 

"She loved Harlan," Blanc continues on, "she hates Ransom. So the poor girl decides to test her theory and make this asshole pay. She gets a copy of the toxicology report, I will be honest I have no idea how."

"She has a cousin--she told us, she has a cousin who works as a receptionist at the examiner's office." You tell him, finally seeing the pieces slowly start to come together in front of you. 

Blanc smiles at you. It makes you feel lighter. 

"Well, voila." He waves his hand in the air. "The numbers mean nothing to her, but if Ransom is guilty its existence is a threat, so she photocopies the header and makes her blackmail note."

"Why did she send it to me?" Marta asks. 

"She didn't," you answer before Blanc has the chance, "she sent it to Ransom."

"Correct," Blanc says smugly, "and when Ransom first gets it, what is his reaction? Elation! He still thinks Marta gave Harlan the tampered drugs! A blood tox report will prove Marta's guilt!"

All throughout this entire retelling, Ransom remains seated in the chair. I think that were Wagner and Elliot not standing within reach of him he would have been up and either running out of the library at this point or he would have attacked Marta. Or Blanc. Or even you.

"He goes to the will reading in high spirits, ready to see the family tear themselves apart, secure in the knowledge that it will all be undone when the tox report comes to light. And then Marta confesses. And everything turns on its head. Now he realizes that Marta has committed no crime, and the tox report will prove her innocence. The changed will is going to stand. He has lost. _Unless."_

Blanc whirls around and stares at you and Marta. "You both decide you're not going to give up the money. You've come this far. Just one step further. Just one last act, in for a penny, in for a pound. You decide. You are _in._

"Step one: destroy all evidence of Marta's innocence."

_The burned down medical examiners office._

"Step two: send Marta the anonymous email with a _late_ morning rendezvous time, and deliver her the blackmail note."

_The blank letter on the stack of papers._

"Step three: keep your appointment with Fran. Now the board is set. Marta will get the blackmail note. You will put the pieces together for her--the tox report, her one chance at getting away with it all. You'll guide her to the rendezvous. You'll make an anonymous call to the police, they will catch her there with the body and the burned evidence. Marta will be arrested for killing Fran...and Harlan."

You turn to Ransom, hands balled into fists at your sides. "You are the lowest piece of _shit_ I've ever known."

Ransom glares at you in response.

"She said--" Marta starts, moving to stand at your side, "you...did this...she didn't say 'you did this', she wasn't talking about me, she said 'Hugh did this'. Cause you made the help call you Hugh. Cause you're an asshole."

Ransom rolls his eyes at that, briefly throwing his hands in the air at being insulted twice in a row.

Blanc steps forward to your other side. "It would have worked. If we hadn't brought you in for questioning, so you could not make your anonymous call. And if Fran had not stashed a safety copy of the tox report. And if Marta and Y/N had not outplayed you once again. By having kind hearts, by saving Fran's life, though it meant them losing the inheritance and going to jail. They didn't play your game, they saved Fran's life."

Ransom's anger melts away into something else...something akin to fear. "Fran's alive?"

Marta's phone starts ringing, and when she lifts it you see the caller ID lists the hospital. She steps off to the side and answers it, her back to the rest of you. 

Blanc chuckles. "Oh yes. Fran, who will confirm this fairy story or something close to it. And will send you, Hugh, to jail."

"Yes. Thank you doctor, that's great news, we'll be there soon." Marta ends the call and turns back around, a smile on her face. Your spirits lift a little bit--

"She's okay. She's ready to talk."

\--and then promptly fall once more.

Marta's lying. _Marta's lying._ You school your features, trying to act happy with her words, but you know. You can tell. She's lying. She's going to vomit and everyone will know that she is. But _why_ is she lying? What is she trying to do?

_A confession._ She's playing Ransom at his own game.

"That's great news," you say with relief and move over to her side, even though inside you're falling apart again because you just lost another friend. 

Blanc, oblivious to the truth of Marta's words, smiles at her and addresses the officers. "Trooper Wagner, if you would keep Mr. Drysdale in custody while Lieutenant Elliot, Miss Cabrera, Miss L/N and myself go to the hospital to take Fran's statement."

Ransom stands to his feet, shrugging off Wagner's hold on his arm. He takes a step towards you and Marta. You stay in place, not allowing him to intimidate you again. _Never_ again. You move in front of Marta protectively, not about to let him get anywhere close to her. 

The poker face that Ransom had been wearing this whole time breaks and he grins, his eye twitching just the slightest as he stares down at you. 

"I'm gonna say this just to you two, not to a courtroom of cameras, just to you because you know it's the truth: we allowed you into our home. We allowed you to take care of our granddad, to be part of our family and now you think you can steal it from us? You think I'm not going to fight for our birthright, our home, our _ancestral_ family home?"

Blanc suddenly bursts into laughter, having taken a seat nearby. He shakes his head as the three of you turn to him, wondering what has suddenly overtaken him and made him break like this. 

"That is hooey! H-Harlan bought this house in the eighties. From a Pakistani real estate billiona--"

"Oh, shut up Blanc, shut up!" Ransom shouts, a vein standing out on his neck with anger. You actually take a step back, a small spark of fear shooting up your spine. This is the Ransom you know, the unpredictable and volatile one. "Shut up with that Kentucky-fried foghorn leghorn drawl!"

The smile falls off of Blanc's face and your anger comes to the front as Ransom steps in his direction. You move to the side, cutting him off and making him turn his focus back on you once more. He sneers down at you, clearly over everything. 

"Yeah, I killed Fran but I guess I didn't, so what do you have on me? Nothing. What? Attempted murder--" he looks over the top of your head at Blanc, "I get arson for the bombing, maybe a few other charges, with a good lawyer I'll be out before you know it."

Ransom looks between you and Marta, his lip curling. "And then you'll see just how much hell I can wreak on your lives, you vicious, little _bitches."_

You don't react to Ransom's words. They're not the worst things you've been called, but they're also not the nicest. Marta stays strong, until her jaw clenches and her chin wobbles. Her cheeks bulge and then--

\--she vomits right into Ransom's face.

You step back out of the danger zone as Marta falls to her knees, retching. Blanc places a hand on your back to stop you from moving any further. Ransom stumbles backward, gagging as he tries desperately to clean his face off. Wagner and Elliot take a step forward to help but Marta holds up a hand, holding them off. 

"Ugh! What the shit!"

Trooper Wagner gasps. "That means she was lying!" Lieutenant Elliot gives him a solemn look. 

Marta nods, looking at Blanc somberly. "That's right, Fran's dead." Blanc clenches his jaw. Marta looks up at Ransom, who is currently trying to get her vomit out of his eyes. "And you just confessed to her murder."

Trooper Wagner holds up his phone showing that he's been recording this whole conversation, and he does in fact have Ransom's confession on tape. Marta stands back up to her feet.

Ransom blinks as everyone in the room focuses on him. You step towards him, a satisfied smirk on your face. To see him like this, this thorn in your side who has fed off the weakness of others all of a sudden be so powerless himself makes you feel stronger than you ever have in his presence. 

"You're going to prison for a _very_ long time. I should have known from the moment I first met you that you would do something like this. You say that we're the ones who ruined your life, your _family's_ life, but you don't even know what trouble you've caused them by doing this. It serves you right that you--"

You can't even finish your gloating session, because in the next instant Ransom's hand is shooting out and wrapping around your throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. sorry for the cliffhanger <3


	13. A Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest to write ahhhhhhhh
> 
> We're officially getting into my own story and not the script anymore! It's going to be an interesting ride!
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos!

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as Ransom squeezes his hand, cutting off your airflow and making it nearly impossible to breathe. He raises his arm, lifting you into the air until your toes are just brushing the ground. You let out a choked sound, lifting your hands and desperately trying to pry his hand away from you. 

There's a lot of sound around you, someone calling your name, but you can't hear anything past the noise of your blood pumping in your ears. Ransom snarls at you, his teeth bared as he shakes with fury. His piercing blue eyes stare straight through, filled with fury and hatred. There's a gleam in them that tells you all you need to know. 

He will kill you. He isn't afraid to. 

_In for a penny._

"Ransom, let her _go,"_ Blanc's voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. He sounds angry, _livid,_ like he's ready to tear into something with his teeth. 

Ransom chuckles darkly, not taking his eyes off of you. "Why? As soon as I let her go those two dickwads over there are going to tackle me, or worse, shoot me. So, no, I don't think I _will."_

His hand tightens and you let out a small whimper at the pain of it. You feel as though your eyes are going to start bleeding at any second from all the pressure that's being pushed through your body. 

_"Ran...som..."_ You gasp, and even though you're trying desperately to appear threatening, the dimming of your vision and lack of mobility is truly making it hard to do so. 

Ransom finally looks away from you and over to his right for a brief moment. He grits his teeth for a moment, though even that is hard for you to make out as your eyes begin to flutter closed. 

_"Blanc..."_ your voice is barely a whisper, hoarse as it is, as you plead for _any_ help. You feel as though you're truly going to die at this moment. Your vision is dark, your eyes are fluttering closed and you've gone so long with so little air that you're surprised you haven't fallen unconscious already. Too long without oxygen isn't good for the brain.

Just as you begin to feel yourself fading away, the hand is suddenly gone from your throat. The air flowing back into your lungs comes all at once and you gasp, choking on it in the process. Your feet slam back down onto the floor and your knees buckle, causing you to fall back towards the ground. 

Someone wraps their arms around your waist and catches you halfway to the ground, slowing your descent and cushioning your fall. You crumple in their hold, your limbs loose and all your strength gone. 

When your vision clears and you can see what's happening, everything seems so _slow._ Ransom yanks one of the knives off of the wheel and you're forced to watch, helpless, as he lunges for Marta. Lieutenant Elliot and Trooper Wagner were thrown off guard by him tossing you to the side that they're slow to stop him from attacking Marta as well. Marta's mouth opens in a silent cry as he grabs her and shoves the knife directly into her chest, the two of them falling to the ground with him on top of her. 

"Marta!" You sit up with a cry, your voice weak. The arms around your waist hold you in place, supporting you when you lose your strength and slump forward. They tug you back and against their chest, and considering you can see everyone else in the room it's not hard for you to deduce that it's Blanc who has you leaning against him. 

The room goes silent as Ransom pulls away from Marta just the slightest bit, a look of frustration on his face. Marta stares up at him, wide-eyed and otherwise appearing unharmed. There's no blood, no screams of pain. Ransom pulls the knife back the slightest bit, and that's when you see it. 

It's a theatrical knife. 

Ransom comes to the same realization. He blinks down at her.

"Shit."

Elliot and Wagner don't waste another second in moving forward and grabbing him, yanking him off of her. You slump back as you finally see that Marta's no longer in danger, the pain of your throat coming to the front of your mind. 

Blanc is moving you around, twisting so that you're now able to look up at his face. His eyebrows are pulled together deeply, his face etched with concern. His eyes are wide and his mouth is moving, but you can't quite focus on what he's saying. 

You let out a shaky breath and that stirs something in your lungs, making you sit up and start coughing. The burn in your throat is painful and makes your eyes water. You take deep breaths in, trying to make up for the time when you were hardly breathing at all. 

Blanc places one hand on your back and the other on your jaw, gently tipping your head up and forcing you to look at him. He looks down and his mouth hardens for a brief moment. 

"It's okay, you're okay now. Try to calm your breathin', all right?" You can finally make out what he's saying and he's clearly trying his best to get you to stop coughing, but it's not really doing any good. 

You force yourself to stop, face nearly turning red in the effort to hold in your hacking. Once the feeling manages to pass you let out a deep breath and lean forward, managing to press your forehead to Blanc's shoulder in the process. You're surprised when he doesn't push you away but instead moves his hand to cup the back of your head, holding you in place. 

"How is she?" Lieutenant Elliot's voice sounds somewhere to your right, out of breath but still in control. 

"Haven't asked her yet," he murmurs, "she needs to be checked over by a medic."

Elliot walks away. You distantly hear some racket and stern voices as you're guessing Ransom is led out of the room. 

_Marta._

You sit up suddenly, startling Blanc. Black spots swim briefly in your vision before fading away. He focuses on you, briefly glancing down at your throat before looking you in the eye. 

"What's wrong?" 

"M-Marta," you say quietly, turning to look over where you last saw her. She's sitting up now, leaning back against the couch with her knees pulled up to her chin and her arms wrapped around them. She glances over at you and you see her tear-stained face. She moves forward at the same time you move away from Blanc--albeit reluctant as he is to let go of you--and the two of you meet in the middle, wrapping your arms around each other. 

Marta immediately starts crying into your shoulder. You should be crying. You feel like crying. You _want_ to cry. But you can't. While Marta allows herself to let go in your embrace, you sit there, stony-faced and numb. It's finally all over. Marta didn't kill Harlan, Ransom has admitted to killing Fran on tape and will now go to prison for the rest of his life, and even though your throat is feeling a little raw at the moment, you're both _alive._ You're swimming with emotion that refuses to be let out, building up inside you. 

"The ambulance will be here in a few minutes." Blanc's calming voice says from just behind you. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

You shake your head, leaning back as Marta does the same. Her eyes are red and there are tear streaks on her cheeks.

"Blanc, do you mind taking those two out of here while we deal with this?" Elliot looks over his shoulder to where Wagner and the other police officer now have Ransom on the ground with his arms handcuffed behind his back. They're talking to him but he's facing the other way so you can't see how he's feeling. 

"Of course," he says, standing to his feet quickly and moving to the front of you. He holds a hand out to Marta first, helping her to stand and then doing the same to you.

You're momentarily caught off guard by how easily he pulls you up. You sway on your feet, still trying to get all your air back and stop your head from being so floaty. He clamps down on your hand and steadies you with the other, waiting until you nod that you're fine. He lets go of your hand but simply moves it around to your back, to the area you're sarcastically beginning to call 'Blanc's space'. Whenever Blanc leads you somewhere--which as of late has been quite often--his hand is always on the small of your back, his fingers spread and seeping warmth into your spine. It's comforting and nice, and for that reason, you never step out of his touch. 

The three of you move out of the library with Marta trailing behind since you all can't fit side-by-side in the doorway. Blanc leads you into the living room over to a chair by the window. Marta sits in the one beside you while Blanc seats himself across from the two of you. 

Your throat is on fire, throbbing and making it painful to even swallow. Maybe something to drink would help. Just to soothe the ache a little bit. 

You stand up and immediately Blanc is on his feet as well. You pause as he looks at you with a frown. 

"Do you need to go somewhere?"

You shake your head. You clear your throat and immediately regret it, wincing at the raw sensation it envokes. You lift your hand up and rub your neck, delicately trying not to press too hard on the marks you're sure are forming there. "Drink."

Blanc nods, watching you with concern. "I'll be more than happy to get you one once the medics have checked you over. Can you wait that long?"

You nod, moving back and sitting down once more. Blanc hesitates before doing the same. The silence from before settles over the three of you again. It's not awkward, but there is unspoken tension. 

Marta places her hand on your knee and squeezes comfortingly. You smile weakly at her, and she leans over, looking at your throat. 

She frowns. "I think it's going to bruise."

You let out a sigh. "I'll get my scarves out." You still sound like you had just spent the past three hours screaming your lungs out. Marta lets out something that sounds like an attempt at a laugh but it doesn't cover the concern on her face. 

"Are you in much pain?" Blanc's quiet question floats over. He's leaning forward, hands clasped together and elbows resting on his knees. His face is pinched with worry as his eyes flicker from your neck to your eyes. 

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before you look down at your lap. "I've definitely felt better."

"Yes, I can imagine," he murmurs, "any man who lays his hands on a woman is no good man."

The urge to scoff is so strong that it actually hurts you more to hold it back than if you had just let it out. 

Marta answers for you. "Y/N has known for a while that Ransom was no good. She tried to warn me, but I just...I was blind."

Blanc raises a brow. "How did you reach this conclusion about Mr. Drysdale, if you don't mind me askin'?"

You're unable to keep the frown off his face but you refuse to meet his eye. 

"I apologize if that's intrusive. I shouldn't be makin' you talk anyways, what with how you must be feelin' right about now."

You wave a hand, schooling your features once more. "It's okay."

Blanc nods, but you can tell he isn't convinced. Marta's lips are thinned and you can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn't. If you want Blanc to know about your past with Ransom then you'll be the one to tell him. 

Time passes quickly and before you know it Lieutenant Elliot is leading two paramedics into the living room and over to your side. They're two men, one young and one a few years older than you. 

"This is Jameson and Andy. They just want to check to make sure you don't need to go to a hospital, okay?"

You nod, prepared to stand up but the younger one, Andy, steps forward and holds a hand out. "We can do everything we need to with you seated, ma'am."

Andy, probably in his early twenties, is a scrawny kid with fiery red hair. He has a serious look on his face and his cheeks are flushed, the medical bag clutched tightly in his right hand.

"So, you're Miss L/N?" Jameson asks, stepping forward and crouching down so that he's below you. He's tall with dark hair, brown eyes, and a white-toothed smile. He reaches into his own bag and pulls out a blood pressure meter. 

Blanc clears his throat, making his presence known as he stands and moves around to stand behind your chair. "It's actually _Dr._ L/N."

Jameson pauses and glances at him briefly before nodding at you, his smile on his face growing minutely. "Doctor? That's mighty impressive. What kind of doctor?"

You try to smile, though you're sure it can't look too convincing. "Psychologist." 

Jameson stops halfway through wrapping the cuff around your upper arm. He loses his smile and frowns, moving one hand to your throat and gently pressing his fingers into it. "Does it hurt to speak?"

You nod, not wanting to say anything more.

Jameson starts with the pump on the blood pressure cuff, and you begin to feel the tightening sensation on your arm. "Okay, I'm going to ask you some questions. You don't have to say anything, just nod or shake your head, all right?"

A nod. 

"You already said you have a sore throat. I'm assuming this includes neck pain." Nod. "Any difficulty swallowing?"

Nod. 

"You sound hoarse. Judging by the way I can see where a hand was on your neck--" he skates his fingers across my skin, sending a small shiver down my body that he has the decency to pretend he doesn't notice, "--but your eyes aren't bloodshot, at least enough to be concerning. Can you stick your tongue out?" You do. He pulls out a penlight and shines it, checking it over. "No discoloration. Do you have any ringing in your ears?"

You pause. You did have some right after Ransom let you go, but not anymore. You shake your head. 

"No drooling...Andy can you listen to her lungs?"

Andy moves forward quickly and pulls a stethoscope out of his bag, crouching on your other side and waiting for Jameson to pull the blood pressure monitor off before checking you over. The diaphragm is cold and you shiver when he presses it to your skin. He does this for a few seconds before removing it. 

"She sounds pretty clear."

Jameson acknowledges him. "Good, good. BP is 125 over 87, so it's a little elevated but after all that's happened, I'm not surprised. I imagine it will go back down in a little while. You seem like a relatively healthy person."

"Have you lost consciousness at all?" Andy asks, standing back up after packing his bag back up. 

"Almost," you say quietly. Ransom would have made you pass out if he had strangled you for any longer. 

"Any nausea, vomiting?" Jameson turns your attention back on him. You shake your head. Marta coughs beside you. 

"Okay, well, other than some pain and soreness, I think you're fine. I would just watch to make sure that your throat doesn't swell up any and make you choke or stop your airflow, okay? If that happens you need to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Here," he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card, "this is my card, if you have any questions that you think don't constitute a hospital visit." 

You would think that his intentions were entirely pure, except for the fact that as you take the card from his hand he _winks_ at you. You blink at him in surprise. 

"Will that be all? I'd like to get Dr. L/N here something to drink if I can." Blanc moves around to stand by the armrest, subtly putting himself between you and Jameson. You look up at him with a frown, confused as to why he's acting like he is. 

Jameson pushes up to his feet, straightening until he's standing a few inches taller than Blanc. But what Blanc doesn't have in height he makes up for in confidence. He pushes his hands in his pants pockets and assumes a relaxed pose, confident in who he is. 

You don't know _what_ is going on right now, but whatever it is, it needs to stop. 

You stand up as well, gaining the attention of the two men in the process. You reach out and shake Jameson's hand, who takes it with a slightly smug look directed in Blanc's direction. 

"Thank you," you say, trying not to show how much pain it causes you to speak, "I appreciate it."

"Of course," he squeezes your hand once more before dropping it. "Just stay warm and take it easy for a few days."

You smile back. Blanc steps to the side and allows you to walk around him. You leave as the paramedics speak with Marta and you head towards the kitchen. When you hear footsteps behind you it startles you. A glance over your shoulder shows that it's Blanc who is following you, a sheepish look on his face. You stop and wait for him until he's beside you before you continue walking. 

"I did say that I would bring you a drink," he explains. The corner of your mouth turns up. 

"You don't know how I like it." You murmur, slightly teasing with him. He smiles at that. 

The two of you walk silently into the kitchen. He leans against one of the cupboards while you move over to the stove and pick up the teapot, moving to fill it with water. Once that's done you set it on the stove and turn the heat on so it can boil. Maybe some hot tea will help. 

Harlan is the one who was addicted to black coffee and black tea. He made you and Marta drink the tea with him as he understood your aversion to coffee. He didn't put anything in it but you and Marta at least put a little milk. Since Fran is the one who made it you know she also put sugar in yours. 

You sigh, moving over to the tall standing cabinet and looking for the tea bags. Everything is so nicely organized that you find it quickly. You pull the sugar out as well and set them on the counter. Fran made sure that everything was easy to find for when Harlan wanted to get something himself. 

Poor Fran. She didn't deserve what happened to her. Neither did Harlan. This whole situation happened because Ransom was angry about being cut out of the will because he's a reckless and egotistical human being. 

Because Harlan changed the will to only include you and Marta. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop yourself from sinking into this hole of dark thoughts again. 

Does this mean that everything--Fran's death, Harlan's death, the family turning on you, Marta's mother's immigration status being threatened--is you and Marta's fault? Could you have stopped something? Could you have prevented Fran's death, prevented _Harlan's_ death if you had just stayed at his birthday party a little longer that night?

Two people _died_ because of you. 

And that's when the dam bursts. 

A sob escapes you before you have a chance to stifle it with your hand. You place one hand on the counter to hold yourself up as the grief and anger over the last few days finally comes out and lets you _feel_ _._ Tears stream down the sides of your face as you let everything out. Some of it is relief--relief that it's all over now and things can start to be on the mend. 

Someone gently takes hold of your shoulders and spins you around, pulling you into their embrace and tucking your head into their shoulder. You go willingly, enjoying the feel of their arms around you. You can tell by the now-familiar smell that it's Blanc who's holding you. He rubs one hand up and down your back soothingly while the other is pressed to the back of your head. 

He doesn't say a word, just continues to hold you while you experience your first mental break down in...in _forever._ You don't think you've felt so confused since your senior year of college. 

You finally calm down and quit crying, but even then Blanc doesn't release you, he continues to hold you, being the firm rock you need to lean on at the moment. 

The whistling of the teapot startles you and you jump back away from Blanc. He doesn't force you to stay against him but he also doesn't completely remove his hold on you. You wipe the tears from your face and try to compose yourself. 

"Oh no," you whisper, frowning as you reach forward and try to remove the tear stains on his shirt. He chuckles. 

"Don't worry about it, Y/N." He says gently, and when you look at him he's watching you with a mixture of amusement and worry. "Why don't you head back into Miss Cabrera? I can manage bringin' you your cup of tea. Just tell me how you like it."

You give him a wobbly smile. "A little milk and some sugar, please."

He smiles. "Of course. Just leave it to me."

You nod and start heading out of the kitchen while he walks over to turn the stove off. You hesitate in the doorway, looking back at him. You want to thank him, for holding you, for catching you, for _being there for you,_ but you don't know how.

And then you get an idea. But should you do it? Would he push you away? What if he was only being nice like that because he felt sorry for you?

Screw it. You're going to do it anyway. 

"Blanc?" You call, ignoring the pang in your throat. He turns from where he's holding two teabags in his hands, giving you an expectant look.

You walk over and before he has the chance to move you lean up and kiss him on the cheek, in the same place that you did when he was asleep in his apartment, lingering for just the barest of breaths before pulling back and looking up at him. 

His eyes are wide and his cheeks are quickly turning red as the two of you stare at each other. 

"Thank you," you say, barely loud enough for him to hear. And then you turn and head out of the kitchen, leaving him frozen in his spot and staring at you as you walk away.


	14. A Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired ah ha ha. 
> 
> This chapter was fun (and also hard) to write. I apologize in advance, I had to do it to em. Just wait until you see what I have planned next!
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos!

Blanc comes back into the living room a few minutes later, two steaming mugs in his hands. He hands one to you first and then one to Marta before sitting back down in his chair. The three of you sit in silence for a few minutes, you and Marta blowing on the tea to cool it while sipping. He actually did pretty well. It's similar to how Fran made it, though it might have too much sugar in it. 

Marta's foot has been bouncing a mile a minute since you came back after you left Blanc in the kitchen. Jameson and Andy were nowhere in sight and Marta had been staring out the window when you walked up to her. Now she's staring at the floor, lost in thought.

"Can I ask?" Marta speaks up suddenly, lifting her head. Her leg also stops. "At what point did you suspect I had something to do with Harlan's death?"

"From the moment you first set foot in front of me." Blanc uncrosses his legs and lightly taps her shoe with his own. The two of you look down and there you see it, a tiny, faded spot of blood. 

"Oh my god," she says, horrified. 

"I want you to remember something very important: you won not by playing the game Harlan's way, but yours. The both of you." He glances between the two of you, a serious look on his face. 

You look out the window, down to the ground where you can see the Thrombey's all standing in the driveway. They haven't been allowed back inside the house since Blanc had them all removed. 

"I should help them, right?" Marta asks. 

Blanc grimaces. "I have my own opinion." He looks over at you briefly before leaning back and also glancing out the window. "But I have a feeling you'll follow your heart."

You look down into your tea, feeling the warmth of the mug in your hands. 

_ He's acting like nothing happened in the kitchen.  _ Like he didn't hold you as he cried, like he didn't make you tea just as you like it, like you  _ didn't _ kiss him, even though it was just the cheek. Maybe your initial thoughts were right. Maybe you're reading too much into...whatever is going on between the two of you and Blanc was just being his normal southern-gentleman self. 

"I...don't think we should." Your throat feels a little better thanks to the tea, but you still sound awful. 

Marta frowns at you. "We can talk about it more later, okay? Just rest your voice for now."

You nod, leaning forward and placing your mug on the coffee table. "Bathroom," you say as an explanation as you stand, hoping that will deter Blanc from following you this time. He and Marta nod at you while you turn and walk out of the room. 

You lock the door and look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are red and your hair is unkempt. You comb your fingers through it and put it back up, this time looking better than you did before. You lean forward against the counter, peering at your throat in the mirror. Marta and Jameson were right--it's definitely going to bruise. Ransom gripped you tight enough that you can already see the imprints of where his fingers were pressed into your flesh, wrapping almost the entire way around your throat. It's going to be ugly as it heals, so either you'll have to cover it with makeup or wear lots of scarves. This will be fun to explain to the others at work, you already know it. 

You sigh, finishing up before heading back to the living room. You can hear voices the closer your get and you slow down as you begin to make out their words. 

"--don't think so?"

A sigh from Blanc. "It would be highly unlikely."

Both of their voices are lowered more than usual, as though they don't want any outsiders to hear what they're saying. It makes you feel guilty for listening like this, but not enough that you stop. 

A soft laugh from Marta. "You never know. It couldn't hurt to ask?"

A few seconds of silence, and then another sigh. "I will think about it."

Marta sounds happier when she speaks again. "And what will you do in the meantime?"

The wood creaks as someone moves. "Wait for another case, help when I can. My sister lives out of state and has been askin' me to visit her. Might go out there--not much keepin' me here."

_ Not much keeping him here. _

What little hope you had been protecting promptly falls down to the soles of your shoes. 

"You don't know that!" Marta says back. 

"Marta, I'd rather discuss the weather."

"Okay, but only if you promise to  _ try." _

What point is there in your feeding into this little fantasy of yours anymore? It's time to face the music. He's a detective, you're a psychologist. You have completely different lives. He was investigating a death that you were a  _ suspect  _ in. The thought of how unprofessional a relationship between the two of you, no matter how much you might've wished for one, makes you angry at yourself. You've always been able to keep your private life and professional life separate. 

For some reason, when it came to Harlan and things involving him, that line always got blurred. You inadvertently caused his death because of that. You won't make that mistake again. 

You step into the living room, trying not to show how defeated you're feeling. You're good at hiding emotion. You've done it before and you can do it now. 

Blanc and Marta pause when you step into the room, almost as if they're surprised to see you back. You notice out of the corner of your eye the way that Marta gestures something towards Blanc, though you can't see exactly what. 

You pick up one of the blankets and throw it around your shoulders, keeping your eyes downcast. You bend down and pick up your mug of tea before making your way to the balcony doors. 

"Y/N?" Blanc asks quietly, stopping you just before you pull the door open. 

You hesitate before spinning around, meeting his confused look with your own determined one. 

"I understand that you don't have any more reasons to stay here with us, and I'd hate to keep you. Thank you for your help, Detective Blanc. If you'll excuse me," you give a forced smile and then you're sliding the door open, stepping outside and shutting it behind you. It's the easiest way you can put a wall between yourself and Blanc's crestfallen image. 

You let out a breath as you pad over to the edge of the balcony, closing your eyes and breathing in the fall air. It's so crisp that it burns, and the little speech that you just gave did nothing but irritate your throat even more. 

The door opens behind you and you swear that if it's Blanc you're going to jump over the edge. When Marta appears at your side, silent and holding her own mug of tea, she doesn't say a word. She doesn't acknowledge what you just transpired behind you and for that, you're grateful. 

Down below, you watch as Ransom is led to the back of one of the police cruisers. Richard is running along behind him, waving a wad of cash and trying to distract the police officers. Meg is crying as she speaks with one of the officers, while Walt smokes a cigar off to the side. 

Right before Ransom is ducking into the car, he turns and looks back, immediately locking eyes with you. The smug smirk that had been on his face falls, morphing into a look of contempt. 

One by one, the other Thrombeys turn and look up at the two of you as they see what it is that's caught Ransom's attention. Most of them stare at you in disbelief, finally seeing that the two of _you_ are now above them, having received Harlan's inheritance while they got nothing. Because of the people that they are. Because of how _horrible_ they are. 

Linda and Walt are the ones who don't look surprised, but instead annoyed. Meg is the only one who doesn't look upset by this silent proclamation. She stares up at the two of you, the tiniest of smiles on her face. She's proud. 

You and Marta say nothing to them, simply maintaining eye contact and refusing to back down. You lift your mugs and take a slow sip of the tea, enjoying the contrast of it against the cold air. Blanc brought you the mug you normally use--an all-black one that displays the big dipper constellation when something warm is inside--and Marta has Harlan's old one he drank out of every morning. 

My house.

My rules. 

My coffee.

"Let's go back inside, yeah?" Marta suggests quietly, the first to look away from the small crowd below you. You nod, giving Ransom one last stare before the officer forces him to duck his head and slip into the back of the cruiser. You don't spare another look at the rest of the Thrombeys and turn to follow Marta into the house. 

She shuts the door behind you as you make your way to a chair and take a seat, sinking into the cushion and feeling your bones start to thaw. You close your eyes and let out a sigh, only opening them when you hear Marta sit down nearby. She allows a few moments of silence to pass before she speaks up. 

"Has something changed?" Her voice is quiet, almost as if she's afraid to bring anything up at all. "I know that a lot has...happened this week. But did something change when you and Blanc went into the kitchen?"

You stare down at the dark liquid in your cup for a few seconds. "No. Nothing happened."

She nods, though you can tell she isn't convinced. Now that she mentions him, you notice that Blanc isn't in the room anymore. You glance around, but there's no sign of him anywhere. His jacket is also missing. 

"He thought you wanted to be alone, so he left." Marta sounds sad, disappointed almost, as she says this. You blink at her, trying to ignore the stab in your chest at this information. "He's going with the police to take Ransom to the station. Since he was there he's going to give a statement, save us the trouble of having to speak with the police."

You didn't even get to say goodbye. 

"Oh."

"He wanted me to tell you that if you need anything to give him a call."

"I don't have my phone. Ransom took it in the car."

Marta holds up a finger, placing her mug down and reaching into her pocket. To your surprise, she pulls out your phone. She hands it over sheepishly. 

"Blanc gave this to me before he left. I forgot about it, sorry." You take it from her quietly, flipping the black plastic over in your hand a few times. When you unlock the home screen you see you have three missed calls from work. Surely whatever it is that they're calling you for isn't as important as what you've been dealing with. "I think you should at least keep a hold on his number for a while. Just in case."

You do technically have his number now after he's called and texted you so many times. You shouldn't be upset that you didn't get to say goodbye. You told him thank you in the kitchen, and even though you'll dream of that short kiss to his cheek for weeks to come, you begin to feel as though you shouldn't have done it in the first place. He was shocked when it happened, that much you knew immediately. But what if he hated it? What if that's what made him tell Marta that he didn't have anything more to do here, that he had to get away as soon as possible to cut all ties?

What if that's why he left without saying goodbye?

"Okay."

It looks as though that frown on Marta's face is going to become a permanent feature. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but then after a breath, she closes it again. You wish she would just spit it out because watching this inner battle going on inside her is just as painful for you. 

But she doesn't. She simply lifts her tea and takes another drink, eyes moving away and staring out the window once more. And that's how you spend the rest of the morning, sipping your teas and holding back tears. 

What a lovely day.

* * *

Ms. Cabrera and Alice come to the house later in the afternoon once the police and the rest of the Thrombeys officially vacated the property. Marta's mother hugs the two of you tightly, her mouth moving fast and sentences coming out a mix of two languages. Marta grabs her shoulders and gently tries to get her to calm down while you take Alice into the living room. You would go to the library but you're not sure if you can stand being in there. Not after what happened last time. 

_"Shit,_ Y/N." Alice's voice is a hiss as she reaches forward with a frown and brushes her fingers across your throat. "What happened here?"

You grimace, shaking your head. "Ask Marta." 

Her eyes widen at the sound of your voice but she simply nods, for once not prodding. It's unlike her. Usually when Alice gets excited about something she needs all the information immediately. Maybe you sound worse than you thought. 

Marta and Ms. Cabrera walk into the living room soon after. She seems to have calmed down and is looking around the room, taking it all in. Actually, this is probably the first time that either of them has ever been inside of Harlan's home. 

Well, you and Marta's home now.

"He gave you everything?" She whispers, almost like she can't believe it. 

Marta nods. "Yes, Mama. He split it between Y/N and me."

"So we're rich?!" Alice's eyes light up in excitement, a wide grin on her face. Marta gives her a tired look. 

"I guess."

Ms. Cabrera shakes her head. "This is too much _attention,_ Marta. I don't like it."

Marta glances over at you over the top of her mother's head. "Y/N and I have already been presented with possible...problems that might come up, but you don't have to worry about it, Mama. With the money we have, we can afford to get good lawyers to help us."

You nod your head. "It's true. It's not a problem anymore."

Ms. Cabrera gasps when you talk, shooting up out of her seat and moving over to your side. She starts speaking Spanish once more, gesturing with her hands at your throat. Marta swallows. 

You reach out and gently take one of Ms. Cabrera's hands before it accidentally smacks you in the face. She looks back at you with concern. 

"We found out the truth about what happened to Harlan. Ransom tried to kill him, and we exposed him. He took his anger out on Y/N." 

Ms. Cabrera's face falls and she pulls you into a tight hug, rubbing your back soothingly. This is one thing you love about Marta's mother: she treats you like you're one of her own. Even though you've known Marta for less than ten years, you've always been close to her and her family. You've tried to help them out when they need it--whether it just being someone to talk to or even slipping some money their way without them knowing--and they've always welcomed you with open arms. 

Looking back at it now, you used to think the same thing about the Thrombeys. All of them, save for Ransom, always acted so welcoming and like you were part of the family. But you never were. There's a mountain-sized difference between how the Cabrera's treated you compared to them. Harlan and Meg were the only ones who made you feel truly welcomed, and now one of them is gone. You're not sure if after everything that's happened if Meg will want anything to do with you, but you suppose time will only be able to answer that question. 

"It looks worse than it feels." _Lie._ You squeeze Ms. Cabrera back and pull away with a gentle smile. She frowns, running her hands over your face before softly grazing your collar bone, making a point to avoid the tender area. 

"And she really shouldn't be talking," Marta says with a pointed look in your direction. "Look, Mama, it's been a long day. Legally this house is ours now. And Y/N's. What should we do?"

Ms. Cabrera blinks. "Why are you asking me?"

Marta glances over at you briefly. "Should we keep it or sell it?"

You and Marta had had a brief conversation about this before her family showed up, moreso her doing the talking and you either nodding or shaking your head. You both agreed that getting her mother and sister's input on the situation would help make the decision easier. 

Her mother frowns. "Marta, this was your friend's house. Do you really want to sell it?"

"Why would you sell it? It's a mansion!" Alice gestures around the large room. 

"I don't really want to sell it," Marta agrees quietly, "but would you be okay living here?"

"You want us to live here with you?" Ms. Cabrera seems almost surprised by this. 

Marta frowns. "Of course. That's why I wanted to ask you."

"Well, this is Y/N's house too. Are you okay with this?"

You nod immediately. You take a breath. "I'm not sure if I want to live here."

Marta looks at you. This is news to her. "Why not?"

You shrug, looking around the room. "Too many...memories. Good and bad. I don't know if I could live in this house every day after everything that's happened."

You get three sympathetic looks. Ms. Cabrera reaches out and pats the top of your hand. "That's okay, sweetie. You don't have to explain yourself anymore. Just rest your voice."

"It's your house too, Y/N. That means if you ever change your mind you just say the word and you can live here." Marta slides down the couch until she's sitting beside her sister. Alice is practically bouncing in her seat, she's so excited. 

"So we're going to live here?" Alice directs her question at her mother but Marta is the one who nods. She jumps up, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. "This is _awesome!_ I'm going to call Carly." She bounces out of the room, her excited voice echoing down the hallway. 

Ms. Cabrera smiles after her daughter, obviously happy that she's happy. She turns back to her eldest, a cautious look on her face. "Is this all real, _mija?"_

Marta nods, her smile widening slowly and eyes tearing up. Mother and daughter embrace, happy as something goes right for the first time in a long time in their lives. You can't help but smile as well, the obvious relief and joy they're exuding almost contagious.

You know that if you did decide to live here with them they would welcome you like you had been there all along, the house is certainly big enough, but you don't think you can do it. Not after the games of Go, after the parties, after seeing the room where Harlan killed himself, where Ransom almost killed you. You'd have to live in the house where you met the most mysterious and hard-to-read man you've ever met in your life and sit in the room where you acted cold and let him walk away. 

No, it would all be torture to you. You couldn't do it. You at least have enough money now to move out of your tiny apartment, maybe move into a bigger one or even buy a house of your own. You can buy practically anything you want now, you wouldn't need to go back to work, you could be free. 

_Thirty million dollars._

But you don't want that. You love your job--you didn't invest so much of your life into getting licensed for nothing, you want to help people. Blanc was right--you just don't have to worry about when your next paycheck will come anymore. 

You sink back into the cushion. _Blanc._ He was just here a few hours ago, and then you blinked and he was gone. Because of you. Deep down you know it was the right thing for him to leave before things got out of control, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. 

Marta and her mother laugh at something, drawing you back to the present. You'll learn to move on. He was only in your life for a brief period of time. Surely he didn't leave _that_ big of an impression on you?

You could go on repeating that in your head for years to come, and you'd always know you were wrong. 


	15. A Failed Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting guys! I've been pretty sick these past two weeks and even ended up in the hospital at one point but I'm getting better! I have to go see a specialist and get some studies done to find out what's truly wrong, but until then I'm still writing.
> 
> This isn't originally where I planned for this story to go, but I think it's still going to work. It'll all be juicy in the end ;)
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos and the support these past couple of weeks!

_"Y/N!"_

_"Look over here!"_

_"What do you plan to do with the money?"_

_"Are you still in contact with the Thrombeys?"_

One week after it has been revealed that you and Marta are the ones receiving Harlan's inheritance and the reporters have yet to leave you alone. After three days of you avoiding their questions and microphones being shoved in your face most of them decided to leave, but a few must not have anything better to do because there are still enough stragglers that getting into your car to head to work is a pain in your neck. You do what you normally do: keep your head down, your mouth shut, and try to steer as clear of them as you possibly can. Clearly they don't know the same definition of personal space as you do because you still end up shouldering your way past them as your clamber into the driver's seat. 

You shut the door with a sigh, their collective voices muffling. You adjust your coat and make sure your scarf is still properly covering your neck. Somehow you've managed to make it so the press hasn't gotten a glimpse at Ransom's attempted murder on your part, though that doesn't mean they don't know about it. No, not even a day after the attack happened and Ransom was taken into custody, you and Marta's faces were plastered all over tabloids with the headline _ATTEMPTED MURDER ON RENOWNED WRITER'S INHERITANCE RECEIVERS_ stamped at the very top. They know _something_ happened, but damn if you won't let them see it. 

You start your car and pull out of your apartment parking lot, steadily ignoring the continuous flow of questions thrown at you. Once they're no more than a blip in your rear-view mirror you let out a sigh of relief. You're not sure what it is--people can find out where you work if they really wanted to, but they haven't shown up there yet. Either they _don't_ know, or just have enough respect for a therapist's office that they wouldn't meddle in that. 

A quick glance at the clock on your dash tells you that you're late for your meeting with Jamie. You stupidly scheduled it for 8:30, since you had to cancel on him last week with everything that was going on, and you forgot to take into account how the reporters would slow you down. It's nearly 8:45 by the time you slam your car door shut and stalk into the office, tossing a weak greeting to Theresa and moving towards your office. Jamie is already patiently seated outside, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. 

"Hi, Jamie," you say quickly, pulling out your set of keys and unlocking your office. He perks up in his seat, blinking at you. "I'm so sorry I'm late. Come on in."

"That's okay," he says, following me inside and shutting the door behind him. "I'm actually feeling pretty good today."

You look up at him as you set your things on your desk. "Yeah? Care to share with the class?"

He smiles bashfully. "I got a new job."

You smile at him, a genuine one, though you're surprised. "That's great news! But I thought you already got a new job with that last company?"

Some of the smile slips off Jamie's face. "Uh, no. That job didn't work too well with me."

You frown, taking out your notepad and pen and leading Jamie over to the seats. "I'm sorry to hear about that. What happened?"

He takes a deep breath, looking off to the side. Jamie, being a few years older, isn't married and has no kids. From what you've gathered from him he prefers being by himself, too anxious to handle being around other unfamiliar people for long periods of time. It took you a year to get to where you are with him now where he can share willingly with you, but even then you know he's still holding back. That's fine, it's going to take time to properly help him and you're willing to wait. He's tall, about six feet or so, and has black hair. He has square glasses that sit on top of a straight nose in front of brown eyes. Jamie isn't unattractive by any standards, and you try to use that to help boost his self-esteem, though you're not sure if it really helps or not. 

Jamie rubs his hands together, almost nervously. "I...they wanted to know more about my personal background, what I liked to do, and my beliefs."

Your eyebrows raise. "Your beliefs? They aren't allowed to ask you about that, Jamie."

He nods. "I know. I panicked. I got to thinking about how maybe if I answered that then they wouldn't like what I said and then they would want to fire me..." he sighs, shaking his head. "I left."

You nod sympathetically. "Okay, well that's fine. It sounds to me like that company might not have been the best fit anyway. Not if they were asking you about your personal beliefs."

He perks up a little bit. "But it's okay because I got a different job."

You smile at him. "Yes, that's good. This one's better?"

He nods. "It's a private contractor. I just have to do some things for him, kinda like his assistant. He talks to me through the phone and then I do what he says."

_Okay..._ You try to keep your smile firm, not wanting Jamie to see your distrust in this job of his. "That sounds...nice. I'm glad you're feeling comfortable with it."

Besides that bump with the new job, the rest of your appointment with Jamie goes smoothly. He stays an extra fifteen minutes since you were late, and then you move onto your next client. By the time lunch rolls around you're so distracted with trying to log your notes in with your other ones that you're oblivious when your phone starts ringing. It's only when it nearly buzzes its way off your desk onto the floor do you stop it and pick it up, glancing at the name before answering. 

"Marta?"

_"Y/N! Hey! You didn't answer any of the texts we sent you so I thought I'd call you over lunch. How is everything?"_

You lean back in your chair with a sigh, closing your eyes and letting out a deep breath. "I'm finally getting things back under control here at work. If I take a vacation don't let me take more than a week off. This place is nuts otherwise."

She laughs softly on the other end, bringing a slight smile to your lips. _"I'll keep it in mind."_

"What did you call for?"

_"You didn't read the texts?"_

You frown, pulling your phone back from your ear and opening up the messages from Marta and her sister. 

_Dinner tonight?_

Alice.

_Do you want to come have dinner with us?_

Marta.

_Y/N?_

_ANSWER YOUR PHONE MOM IS MAKING TAQUITOS_

Definitely Alice.

You put your phone back up to your ear with a laugh. "I just saw them. You want me to come for dinner tonight?"

_"Yes,"_ Marta laughs, and you can just barely make out some muffled shouting on the other end, _"Alice shut up!"_

You smile, hearing the sisters banter with one another. "What is she doing now?"

There's a pause from Marta for a moment, and it's just long enough that you know she wasn't distracted but simply stalling from answering your question.

_"Well, since it's Friday would you want to spend the night? We could have a girls night."_

That doesn't sound too bad to you. "Sure, sounds like fun."

_"Tell her!"_ Alice hisses in the background. What could she possibly want to tell you?

"Tell me what?"

_"We're also...having a visitor over tomorrow."_

You feel like you already know where this is going, but you don't want to assume. "Okay...should I still be spending the night if you guys are having a visitor come over?"

_"That wouldn't be a problem at all...it just depends on if you want to be here when they're here."_

Oh no. "Who's coming over?"

A pause. _"Detective Blanc."_

You knew it. You let out a deep sigh. "Marta--"

_"I don't want you to be uncomfortable, which is why I'm telling you this now. He's coming over to check up with us and discuss some things that are going to happen at Ransom's court date."_

A chill runs down your spine at his name. You've managed to throw enough of yourself into your work that what's leftover hasn't had much time to think about the murderer, but not completely. "I don't know Marta..."

_"You don't have to, Y/N, I'd get it if you didn't want to. He's going to be staying with us for a few days."_

You blink your eyes in surprise. "He is?" 

_"Well, we have the space now. We said we didn't mind--there are a bunch of empty rooms here. It would save him from having to drive so far back and forth from his place to ours."_

"Didn't he move to Chicago?"

_"He's there right now, yeah."_ Her voice is low. _"I don't think he moved there, though._ _"_

You're quiet for a moment. Seeing Blanc again, so soon after everything that's happened and when you're still trying to push away the tiny crush that you managed to develop on the man in the span of a few days? That's doing nothing more than throwing oil onto the fire. 

"No, I don't think it's a good idea," you finally say quietly, "he reached out to you, not me." You're not going to lie--that stings just a little bit that he wanted to reconnect with Marta rather than you, but your logical side knows not to blame him. You're the one who stormed off the last time the two of you were in a room together and basically told him to leave you alone. 

_"He would be happy to see you, see how you're doing,"_ Marta says quickly, obviously trying to change your mind. _"He may have called me, but he asked about_ you."

That makes you blink in surprise. "He did?"

She hums on the other end. _"He did. Wanted to know if you were handling all the attention okay. Said he saw you on the news."_

He was watching you on the news? "Oh. I didn't...I didn't know." You shake your head, getting it off the dangerous path it was going down. _Don't do it again, don't fool yourself. It means nothing._ "I still don't think it's a good idea, Marta. I'll come to dinner tonight, but I'll spend the night another time. Besides, I'm still dealing with reporters at my place. I'd hate for one of them to get the wrong idea if they saw me carrying a duffel bag out of my apartment."

She laughs, but it's weak. _"I understand, just...think about it."_

You can't help but admire her for her persistence. "Okay."

There's more muffled shouting in the background, and she yells something back to her mother. _"I have to go, Mama wants help getting ready for tonight. You can come over when you want, but we're eating at six."_

"All right. I'll see you guys once I get off work and clean up a little bit." You both say your goodbyes and then hang up. 

You toss your phone onto your desk, leaning back in your creaky leather chair and blowing out a puff of air. You're making the right choice in the end, you know it. Whatever information he has to tell Marta about the case she can just pass onto you without you having to hear it from him. Maybe he would be fine, but you know that you would feel awkward. People with unrequited feelings do that, you should know. You've done enough studies on such a thing in college that you have quite a bit of information on the topic. 

No, you made the right choice. You know you did. It's best if the two of you interact as little as possible. 

Right?

* * *

"I'm glad to see you're healing nicely," Mrs. Cabrera points her fork in your direction from across the table, right at your throat. You took off the scarf when you came inside, much more comfortable with letting them see your bruises than the people at work. 

You nod, swallowing your bite of taquito with mild discomfort. Your throat has healed nicely in the past week, though the skin of your neck is a gross green and yellow. It's in the final stages of bruising so it should be completely gone in another few days. "Feels much better. My voice sounds better too."

"That's good. I'm glad there wasn't any lasting damage." Marta smiles at you. 

"If I had been there, I would have done worse to him--"

"Alice!" Mrs. Cabrera scolds, dropping her fork noisily onto her plate and scowling at her youngest. You try hard to stifle your laughter to little success. 

Alice throws up her hands, mouth full of taquito. "What? I would!"

"He had a _knife!"_

"A _fake_ one!"

"We didn't know that," I say pointedly, "we thought it was real."

Marta grimaces. "Let's talk about something else, yeah?"

Alice gets one look at the twisted look on her sister's face and nods quietly, picking at her food again. Though you're able to joke about the knife, you know better than to do such things to Marta. Just like she wasn't the one who was traumatized by almost choking to death, you're not the one who has nightmares about being stabbed. You reach over and squeeze her hand reassuringly and she gives you a thankful look in return. 

The four of you finish dinner, talking about how you're adjusting and letting them get your input on the changes they want to make to the property. They don't want to change the house--it's beautiful as it is. Even if they did want to change it you wouldn't have said anything. You don't plan on living here and as far as you're concerned you have nothing in it, but you appreciate them asking nonetheless. 

They want to update some of the rooms, get new beds in, and maybe new wallpaper in some of the rooms. You agree that some of it is very old fashioned and find yourself pleasantly surprised when Alice tells you the designs she has in store for her and the guest rooms. Mrs. Cabrera wants a garden in the backyard, and Marta isn't sure what she wants yet. She's still getting used to everything.

At some point, you all moved into the living room where Alice put up a movie, though the four of you hardly paid any attention what with everything you were all talking about. The two hours passed quickly and before you knew it Mrs. Cabrera was yawning and saying goodnight, giving you a hug before leaving the three of you alone. Alice filled you in on what was happening at her school, how everyone couldn't believe that their family was rich, and how the boys were giving her more attention. 

You give her a sympathetic but encouraging smile. "Don't let them play you just because you have money now, Alice. Keep those who treated you nicely before you had money close and be cautious of those who suddenly want to be your friend."

She rolls her eyes with a smile. "I know, but it's nice. It's nice to have them looking at me for once."

"Just don't draw too much attention, yeah?" Marta cuts in quietly, sipping from a glass of wine in her hand. You had declined since you had to drive home later but she didn't waste any time in opening one for herself. "We're still working with the lawyers on helping Mom."

Alice flops back on the couch, throwing one of her arms over her eyes. "I know, I know."

You and Marta share a knowing look. Harlan's lawyers are being very helpful in working to obtain papers for Mrs. Cabrera, but they were adamant that keeping her out of the limelight as long as possible would be for the best. Marta and Alice can go out but if the wrong person learned about their mother then it is possible she could get deported. Hopefully it will all go smoothly and that won't happen, but just in case, you knock against the wooden desk at your side. 

"I should probably get going," you yawn, feeling tired yourself, "it's almost midnight. This week has exhausted me and I could go for sleeping in."

Marta looks at you over the top of her glass. "The offer to spend the night still stands..."

You shake your head, not even wanting to entertain the thought because with how tired you are you _know_ you would cave. "No, no, I'm going home. I need to get some stuff done myself tomorrow. We should have girls night again soon, though, when I'm able to spend the night."

Marta takes another sip of her wine while Alice gives you a pointed look from where she's still sprawled out. She may be young but she's a lot smarter than you all give her credit for. You ignore them both and stand to your feet, gathering your meager belongings and saying goodbye to them, giving two of the most important girls in your life a tight hug. 

"Drive safe--watch for deer."

You scoff into Marta's shoulder. "I will. I'm one of the best drivers out there, remember?"

"Only until I get my license," Alice chirps from behind you. The two of you laugh at her. There's a sudden ringing from Marta's phone on the couch, and she picks it up, studying the name for a moment before turning back to you. 

"Go ahead and answer it," you wave her off, walking towards the door, "I'll see you guys later."

Alice waves goodbye while Marta answers the phone, a hesitant smile on her face. You shut the door and walk out to your car as you huddle deeper into your clothes in an effort to fight the cool night air.

You should buy a new car. There's not really anything that wrong with the one you have now, but it's getting rusty and is getting high on the miles. It's not like you don't have the money to do so. 

You sigh, throwing your stuff into the passenger seat and starting it up. You cast one last glance at the manor, a nostalgic feeling rising inside. As easily as the Cabrera's settled into the home, you know you're not the only one noticing a lack of a certain person's presence. It's not the same without Harlan there, and you don't think it ever will be, but that doesn't mean it can't still be nice. 

You head for your tiny apartment, truly feeling tired. You weren't lying when you said this week had exhausted you. Getting everything back to normal, contacting clients, and reentering some information that had been put in the database incorrectly took time to fix and you ended up staying past your normal hours more than once. 

The road back home is practically dead, especially since it's so late--or should you say early? It takes less time to get home than it did to get to Harlan's place, thanks to the lack of traffic from everybody getting off work at once. You turn up the radio, trying to drown out your thoughts that keep turning to a certain detective and instead focus on the music. There's not really anything good playing right now, mainly remixes that nobody has ever heard of. You critiquing each song successfully deters your train of thought. 

When you pull into your driveway you're surprised to see all the media vans gone. They were still there when you had left for the manor after work but now it's as if they were never there to begin with. You grab your purse and turn your car off, stepping out and locking it once the door is shut. You make your way to your apartment, yours being the only one with the light still on the outside. Your neighbors must all be asleep. 

You pull out your keys, about to put it into the lock, but freeze when the door moves when you press against it. It creaks loudly and your heart stops in your chest, the sound deafening in the night. 

_Why is the door open?_

You take a deep breath, shifting the keys in your hand until it's held tightly between your knuckles, the only form of a weapon you have on you. Your pepper spray is in your other purse. You could be overreacting for all you know. Maybe you just forgot to shut the door all the way when you left?

Knowing yourself, it's unlikely. You wouldn't be so careless. 

You push the door the rest of the way slowly, wincing when it continues to make noise. You step inside, automatically knowing where to step even though it's pitch black inside. Should you call out? In all the horror movies you've watched the first person to be killed calls out as if the person will respond. No, you don't think you're going to announce your presence. 

You reach over and flick the light switch next to the holder for your keys, and only two of your four living room lights come on. 

What you see makes you gasp. You drop your keys to the floor in a clatter as you instead lift your hands to cover your mouth in horror. 

Your apartment is... _trashed._ The paintings are on the ground, the glass shattered and everywhere. Your couch and chair look like someone took a chainsaw to them with how the stuffing is strewn everywhere. The cheap wooden coffee table is smashed to bits, as is your television and entertainment system. Your lamp off to the side is lying on the ground, the light bulb shattered, along with the two lights the didn't turn on. Now you know why. 

You take a step forward, something crunching under your foot. You look down and see one of the portrait holders. You slowly bend down and pick it up in shaking hands, turning it over only to find it's a photo from two years ago of you, Marta, and Harlan at one of the family picnics. 

A choked sob escapes you as you clutch the photo tight to your chest. Who would _do_ this? Who would do such a thing? Why break into your apartment that has practically nothing in it while you know your neighbors have more money than they let on? 

It's easy to see how the destruction continues on down the hallway and into the bathroom and bedroom, but you're too scared to go back there. You need to call someone, _anyone,_ because someone just completely destroyed your safe space. 

Fumbling through your purse you finally pull out your phone, clutching it tightly and stepping into the kitchen as you put your bag down on the table. You hit the first number in your contacts, lower lip trembling and eyes burning with unshed tears. 

It rings three times before they finally answer. _"Did you get home okay?"_

"Marta," you whisper, unable to find your voice.

_"What?"_ She asks quickly, sounding more alert and serious. _"What's wrong? Did you get hurt?"_

"Some-someone broke in-into my _home,"_ you cry, bracing one hand on the tabletop as you try not to break down. "I need your help."

_"Is somebody there with you? Is someone in your apartment?"_

The reminder that you might not be alone shakes you to your core. "I-I don't know, I haven't checked all the rooms yet."

More muffled speaking on her end. _"Don't go through all the rooms when you're there by yourself. Wait until we get there."_

Marta's talking to someone else on the other side of the phone. When she comes back to you she sounds out of breath and she's talking quickly, but that's okay because you know it means she's on her way to you. _"Okay, okay, Y/N we're on our way to get you. You need to call the police. We'll be there in twenty minutes but you need to hang up and call them so they can send someone out to you. Can you do that?"_

You nod at her words even though you know she can't see you. You go to answer her when you finally see it--spray-painted in bright red letters on the wall beside your door above the light switches, the paint still fresh enough that it's dripping slowly down the cream-colored walls. 

Whoever did it either just left or is still here. But that's not what makes you go silent with shock while Marta continues to speak on the phone. No, it's the message they left behind. 

_THIS ISN'T OVER_


	16. A Shoulder to Lean On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably one of my favorites to write for this story so far. We're getting somewhere (finally)!!!
> 
> As for my health, on Thursday I had an EGD done. It's where they give you anesthesia and put a camera down your throat to look at your stomach and such. It's the second time I've had it done. They put a probe in there as well the measure the acidity levels and other aspects of my stomach to see if they can find what's making me sick. It's making my chest hurt a lot but I'm hoping the payoff will be worth it in the end. Fingers crossed that they finally figure this out!
> 
> Thank you all for the reviews/kudos, and for checking in on me! You guys are literally the sweetest <3

By the time Marta's car pulls up you've managed to gather the courage to start sifting through the mess in your living room, trying to salvage whatever you can. A few photos and their frames managed not to crack when they were thrown on the floor, and thankfully the ones whose frames did shatter at least protected the photo inside. You carry the salvaged items over to the kitchen table and put them on top of the small pile when you hear the doorknob begin to turn.

You pause, grabbing one of the kitchen knives out of the block and gripping the handle, ready to use it if necessary. How ironic that you're now the one wielding a knife?

Marta steps inside, stumbling over the lamp that was knocked over. She looks over at you and there's enough light that you're able to see the fear in her eyes when she sees the knife. You immediately toss it onto the table, running out of the kitchen and over to her open arms and pulling her into a tight hug. 

You belatedly realize you're crying into her shoulder, your own body shaking with a mixture of fear, confusion, and anger. She runs one hand down the back of your head soothingly, whispering things in an effort to get you to calm down. You hear your door start to open once more and look up, expecting to see her mother or sister, but instead finding yourself completely shocked at who steps through the doorway. 

Benoit Blanc steps inside so quickly that he almost runs straight into you and Marta, only managing to stop himself at the last second with one hand grasping the doorknob. The two of you lock eyes and your breath hitches as the two of you stare at each other, getting a glimpse of one another for the first time since that last day at the estate. You straighten slowly, not letting go of Marta but adjusting yourself enough that you appear a little more composed. He looks you over, taking in every little detail. You know you're still shaking and your eyes must be red, but you're not going to cower in front of him. 

"Blanc?" You ask quietly, confused as to why he's standing there. "What are you doing here?"

He takes a deep breath, and for the first time, you see what he's wearing. He's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, completely opposite compared to his normal professional self. He's not wearing his glasses and though his appearance is casual, you can still see the outline of a weapon--gun or a taser, you're not sure--resting on his right hip behind his coat. You try desperately not to notice how tight his shirt is and how it outlines things in a way that you weren't able to see when he wore his dress shirts but fail miserably.

"He was at the house when you called," Marta explains gently, stepping back from you but continuing to hold your hand, "he offered to come along."

"Insisted, really," Blanc adds rather sheepishly. His voice sends a calming wave over you and your shaking almost completely stops. "I apologize if I've intruded, but it sounded serious."

You nod slowly. "That-that's okay. I appreciate it." You let out a choked laugh. "I'm sorry you had to see my place in this state."

He gives you a small grin. "Possessions can be replaced but people cannot. I'm just glad to see you're not hurt."

You blush at his words but before you can ponder over them for too long Marta turns to you, cupping your face and looking you over with concern. "You're not hurt, right?"

You give her a weak smile, shaking your head and covering her hands with your own. "No, I got here after everything was trashed. I haven't seen anyone else."

"Did you check out the back?" Blanc asks as he looks down your hallway. You shake your head. "I'll go take a look." 

Blanc steps around the two of you, briefly resting his hand on your back as he does so, before pulling the _gun_ from his side holster and walking slowly towards your bedroom. You and Marta share startled looks before you tug her into the kitchen, making sure to look out for the broken glass and shattered objects littered across the floor. 

"Why did you bring him?" You whisper once you think you're far enough away from Blanc so he can't hear you.

She throws her hands in the air. "His flight was moved up and he ended up getting to the house shortly after you left. We were talking in the living room when you called and he heard me talking to you and wanted to come." She lets out a short breath, frustrated with you. "I wish you would see that this man obviously feels something for you."

"Marta!" You hiss, your voice a little louder than you originally intended. "Do you think right now is really the time for this?"

She sighs, rubbing one hand across her face. "No, I'm sorry."

You nod, folding your arms and trying to process everything that's happened the past ten minutes. "And since when does he carry a _gun?"_

"I always have," Blanc speaks up suddenly behind you, startling you as the two of you turn around to face him. He's shoving the gun back in the holster, clipping it into place before covering it once more with his coat. "I work with the police a lot for most of my cases. I have a permit if you'd like to see it."

You shake your head, a little embarrassed that he caught you talking about him. Hopefully he didn't hear what Marta said. "No, I believe you. Did you find anything back there? I was...well, I didn't want to go back there by myself so I don't know how bad it is."

Blanc grimaces. "I think it would be best for the police to see if they can get any possible leads before you go back there. I'm afraid it isn't pretty."

You let out a groan of frustration at yourself. "I haven't called them yet."

"That's okay, Blanc called them on the way over here." Marta rubs your back soothingly. You look up to find Blanc studiously avoiding your gaze. 

"Thank you," you murmur, touched by how he did that for you. 

He finally meets your gaze and nods, his mouth tightly shut as if he's holding back from speaking. He turns to inspect the living room, freezing when he catches a glimpse of the wall. 

"Dear lord..." he says under his breath. He moves forward and places one finger on the red paint. When he pulls it away you see that some of it has stuck to his skin, though most of it has started drying at this point. "Who would leave such a message?"

"Jesus," Marta gasps, also seeing the threat for the first time. "And you're sure that nobody was here when you came back?"

You nod. "I didn't hear anything at all. The door was already open and I thought that I had just left it like that when I came to your place, but I knew that wasn't like me so I was suspicious. Little did I know how bad it would be." 

Even though Blanc and Marta have been here for less than 20 minutes, you already feel ten times better than you did when you were by yourself. Since Blanc must have called the police when the two of them were on their way to your apartment the police arrive in record time; benefit to getting a call from a detective himself, you suppose. 

None other than Lieutenant Elliot and another police officer step into your apartment, making it feel even smaller than it already is. You've never had this many people in here at one time before. Elliot looks surveys the living room with sharp eyes before focusing on Blanc. He steps forward and shakes the other man's hand in greeting. 

"Miss Cabrera, Dr. L/N," Elliot turns to the two of you, shaking your hands as well, "I'm sorry that we had to meet again under these circumstances."

"That makes two of us," you mumble, earning a snort from the officer at Elliot's side. 

"This is Trooper Moore," Elliot gestures to the young man behind him, and for some reason, he looks vaguely familiar to you, "he specializes in break-ins and burglaries."

You shake his hand as Trooper Moore gives you a cocky grin. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Y/N is just fine," you say absently, unsure if you should be charmed or disturbed.

Blanc steps forward, gaining the other man's attention. "I have reason to suspect that the person who did this left less than an hour ago. He could still be somewhere in the area."

"Why do you say that?" Elliot asks. 

"The paint over here," Blanc gestures to the wall behind them, and both men stiffen when they see the bright red letters. When first walking into your apartment you didn't see it either so you can't blame them for not noticing it. "It's still drying. Whoever did this painted that last and then left? The paint has just stopped runnin' down the wall."

Trooper Moore steps forward, placing his fingers on the paint in the same way that Blanc did earlier. He rubs it between his fingers for a few seconds before speaking into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder, muttering out a few different things that you can't make out. 

"Do you need medical services?" Elliot asks. 

You shake your head. "No, I think I got here after they left. I'm fine."

"He'd come anyway if you wanted him to." Trooper Moore snorts at Elliot. The Lieutenant rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

"Who would come?" You ask, obviously missing some joke going on here.

Trooper Moore looks briefly at Elliot before facing you. "My brother. Jameson Moore."

You feel your eyebrows rise in surprise. "Your brother is Jameson?" _Well, that explains why Trooper Moore looks familiar._

He nods, once more getting that cocky grin on his face. "He went to become an EMT while I went into law enforcement."

You blink at him. "Your parents must be very proud."

He nods. "There's actually three of us. Jameson's the oldest, our sister Jalane in the middle, she works for the DA, and I'm the youngest. Joshua Moore at your service."

"Joshua," Elliot says with a small bite to his voice, "would you be so kind as to go call for some more people to look around the property to see if this bastard is still here or are you not done chit-chatting yet?"

Joshua looks a little chastised but hides it behind a grin. He nods at Marta and you before slipping out the front door and heading to the police cruiser parked in front of your apartment.

"Their family must be very...patriotic." 

Marta shrugs beside you. "I think he's cute."

Your jaw drops as you turn to look at her. Marta rarely ever makes any comments about her attraction to other people, always so worried and busy with work to think of something like that. "Marta!"

"What, do you disagree?"

You hesitate. He looked like Jameson, tall and handsome, just younger. "Well, no, but--"

Blanc clears his throat at your side and you and Marta avert your eyes. You didn't think he was close enough to hear your conversation but apparently you were wrong. 

"Trooper _Moore_ is going to be calling in a few associates to look over your place. Lieutenant Elliot suggested you plan on findin' another place to stay for the night." Blanc's emphasis on Joshua's name is an obvious dig at the conversation he just caught you and Marta sharing. 

Marta places a hand on your arm. "You're coming back to the house. I don't want to hear a word on it--you're not staying in a hotel tonight."

You nod, giving her a small smile, already planning on doing just that. "I need to get a few things."

"I'll come help you," she offers. 

"Ladies, please try not to touch too many things. We still want to try to get a fingerprint off something here." Lieutenant Elliot's voice follows the two of you down the hall as you follow the path of destruction to your bedroom. 

You pause just inside the doorway, frozen at the sight in front of you. Similar to how the front of the apartment looks awful, it's truly devastating in here like a tornado blew through. Clothes are scattered all over the floor from where they must have been yanked out of your dressers, the mirror above your nightstand is shattered, your sheets are ripped and lying in shreds, hell, even your mattress is lying haphazardly on its frame. 

Marta mumbles something under her breath as you step inside, feeling lost as you look at the destruction. "What am I going to do?" You whisper. 

"They'll find who did this, Y/N, don't worry."

"I'm not worried about them finding who did it," you say, and then immediately shake your head. "I mean, I am, but they came into my home. Destroyed my personal belongings. They left me a threat in red paint, which, by the way, I'm pretty sure is some twisted metaphor of some kind."

Your voice continues to get louder with each word that spews out of your mouth and it isn't until Marta places a hand on top of your own that you get control of yourself. "It's been a long night. A lot has happened. I think the best thing we can do right now is take you home, get you a glass of wine, and send you off to bed. How does that sound?"

You take a deep breath, shoving the breakdown that wants to burst down into your feet and nodding, eyeing your clothes that are spread out everywhere. You go over to your closet and grab a bag, beginning to scout around the floor for shirts and pants. Your face flushes when you pick up a pair of underwear and matching bra, remembering that Blanc was in here earlier and most likely saw the same set hanging off the corner of your bedpost. 

"Do you have enough?" Marta asks in that soothing voice of hers. You nod, moving to the bathroom and doing your best not to take too long thinking of how it was also destroyed. You manage to save a few toiletries, but your toothbrush is floating in the toilet. Even if you boiled it in bleach you don't think you'd ever use that again. 

"We have extras," Marta says, looking over your shoulder at the offending object. Together the two of you leave the back of your apartment and walk towards the living room where the three men are deep in conversation. They stop when the two of you get close enough to be able to hear what it is they're discussing. 

Lieutenant Elliot steps forward, folding his arms over his chest. "Do you think you're set for the night?"

You nod, clutching your bag tightly in your hands. "Yeah. Thank you so much for all that you've done for me, Lieutenant. I appreciate it."

He holds up a hand. "Just call me Louie." He looks up at the ceiling briefly, letting out a sigh. "I think we're at a point where you can call me by my first name."

That manages to get a brief smile from me. "I will if you do the same with me."

"Deal," he says as he holds out his hand. You shift your bag to one hand and use the other to shake the one he offers to you. His lips twitch briefly before he turns back to Joshua, speaking to him in a low voice about something. 

"Let me take that for you," Blanc says, appearing at your side. You jump, surprised by his sudden proximity. He has a twinkle in his eye as though he's amused by your reaction but says nothing on it, simply bending and gently taking your duffel from your stiff fingers. 

"Thank you," you say quietly, and he nods. The two of you follow Marta out of the apartment and to her car. You cast a longing look at your apartment over your shoulder briefly, your heart sinking as you accept that you'll most likely never live there again. 

And that there's going to be one hell of a bill for repairs from your landlord. 

You're surprised when Blanc opens the passenger door and holds it for you, throwing your mind back to when he did the same thing as he was getting you away from the Thrombeys. You hesitate, frowning when he carefully puts your bag in the backseat but makes no move to get in as well. 

"Aren't you coming?" You ask, trying not to sound too desperate. 

He gives you a warm look. "Louie and I are goin' to look into a few things, have a word with the officers that are comin' up, and then he'll give me a ride back to the estate."

You think of your own car, sitting unprotected in front of your apartment. "Would you be averse to taking my car?"

Blanc raises a brow, looking over to where your vehicle sits. "That's up to you."

You open the back door and rummage around in your bag for a few seconds before pulling your lanyard out. You toss it to him and he catches it easily, looking down at the keys in his palm for a few seconds before shoving them in his pocket with a smile. "I appreciate it."

Marta frowns, looking over the roof of her car at him. "Are you sure you don't want to ride with us?"

He nods, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to climb in already. You do so, not wanting to make either of you feel awkward, and he shuts the door carefully once you're completely in. Marta starts the car and you roll the window down. He leans on the frame, his face awfully close to your own in the process. 

"I'm not sure how long this is goin' to take, so I'm afraid I might get back late." He's so close that you can smell his woodsy aftershave off his skin. You swallow, trying hard to remain neutral in front of him. 

"Do you want a key?" 

"Sure."

After Marta hands Blanc an extra key he slips it into his pocket with a smile. "Be safe on your way back. Don't think of waitin' up for me either; just go to bed. I'll try to be quiet when I get there."

"You too," you say firmly, wanting him to be just as careful as he's telling you to be. "You are going to be driving my car, after all."

He softens as he looks over at you. "I'll try my best," he says just for you. He lingers for a few seconds before straightening, slapping the roof of the car in goodbye, and then shoving his hands in his pockets as he turns to walk back to your apartment.

Marta puts the car in drive and slowly pulls out of your complex and back onto the road. The roads are practically bare because of the time of night, but the moon is bright in the sky and provides more light than a pair of headlights would anyway. 

Marta puts the radio on softly, an array of music being played by the host. They must think not many people listen at this hour so they can play whatever they want. The two of you don't speak on the way back to the house, but it's pleasant. It gives you a space to think and organize your thoughts while still in Marta's comforting presence. 

By the time you get back you find yourself wide awake while you can tell that Marta is exhausted. By all means, you should be as well, but after what's happened you don't think you would fall asleep even if you took medicine to knock yourself out. 

You carry your bag inside after Marta, following her into the kitchen where she immediately goes to pour two glasses of wine. You quickly cover one of them with your hand, stopping her before she can get a drop out. 

"Go to bed, sweetie." You gently take the bottle from her and place it on the countertop. She sighs, giving you a thankful look. "I'm just going to have a glass and stay up for a little while longer--but you don't need to stay up for me. I'll be fine."

She pulls you into a tight hug. "You can have your pick of the rooms. Blanc is staying in Linda's old room, so that's the only one that's taken. If you don't want to stay in a guest room then just come stay in mine. I won't care." She snorts suddenly into your shoulder. "Or you could just go stay with Blanc."

You gasp as she pulls away with a laugh. You jokingly shove her shoulder, turning to the glass of red wine so she doesn't see the blush on your cheeks. 

_The idea doesn't sound bad..._

"Goodnight, Marta." You say between your teeth, sending her a look as if to say _'one more word and you're dead'._

She grins mischievously at you. "We have Netflix now, so if you want to put a movie on or something help yourself." The mischief melts away from her and she steps forward to give you another hug, this one sincere. "I'm glad you're okay, Y/N. Though this sucks, at least we're in a place now where we can help you."

You sigh, hugging her back. "I know. It's still hard to get used to it all."

She says goodnight and heads upstairs, leaving you in the kitchen. You take a sip from the wine, enjoying the rich taste it leaves behind on your tongue. Shame you didn't let yourself indulge in this earlier--it definitely would've helped. At least it's helping now. 

You take your bag up to the room that Meg and Joni used to share, changing into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before heading back down to the living room with your wine. You couldn't find your matching pajama sets so some comfy clothes will have to do. You settle into the end of the couch, turning the TV on and opening Netflix. You make sure the volume is low, even though you're more than confident that they wouldn't be able to hear it upstairs even if it had been loud. 

You put on one of the movie recommendations that had popped up on Marta's account, hitting play but not really paying attention. You lay your head against the back of the couch, looking at the stained wood of the ceiling. Did Alice and their mother know what happened tonight? Were they aware or did Marta rush out so quick to come to get you that she forgot to tell them altogether? 

By the time the movie ends, you're on your third glass of wine, and though you're starting to feel a little more tired you know you're not yet ready for sleep, so you hit play on the next movie suggestion. What is going on? You know that what happened to you tonight was traumatizing and most people would be feeling the exact same way you are right now, but you're trained to help people who have gone through things such as these. Why can't you even manage to help yourself? 

The front door opening and closing jolts you out of the small slumbering state you had begun to sink into. Blanc starts walking through the living room, freezing in place when he sees you sitting on the couch with a blanket covering your lap, a glass of wine in hand, and a movie playing in the background. 

He gives you a teasing grin, though you're able to see even in the dim lighting how tired he must be. "Thought I told you not to wait up for me?"

You take a sip, enjoying the slight buzzing in your head it brings. A quick glance at the clock on the wall shows it's almost three in the morning. "I didn't mean to."

He hums, changing his direction and now walking over to the couch, sitting on the middle cushion just a few inches from you. Like earlier, your mind flashes back to the time spent in his apartment, to how he offered a simple comfort by sitting next to you on his couch but not quite touching. Your legs are tucked underneath you so there's a little more space between the two of you now than there was before, and you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Sober you would say good, but buzzed you is disappointed. 

He sighs, leaning into the plush of the cushion and closing his eyes. You take the moment to look him over. The first thing you notice is that he's no longer wearing his shoes. He must have taken them off at the front door. His hands rest in a lax position on his thighs, and just that image alone makes you feel warm enough that you need to take another sip of your drink before you lose control of yourself and do something truly stupid. 

"What're you watchin'?" 

His voice brings your attention back up to his face. He's looking at the TV curiously, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He throws one hand out along the back of the couch and you're disappointed when it's _not_ in your direction. 

You look at the movie, watching a burn victim be treated by a nurse from World War II. "The English Patient. It was recommended so I played it."

"Didn't know you liked war-time dramas."

You shrug, turning up the volume just a little bit since he sounds interested. "I don't really have time to watch movies. This one just happened to play after the last one I watched. It's been a little slow so far."

The two of you watch the movie in silence for a few minutes. When you look back over at him you find that he's already looking at you, an unknown expression on his face. 

"What?" You ask quietly. 

"Most people I've seen whose homes had just been destroyed were usually messes. Here you are actin' like nothin' happened."

You force down the lump in your throat. "Having my home broken into and trashed is not the worst thing that's ever happened to me, unfortunately."

He frowns. "I suppose not." His eyes drift down to your throat. "I see you're healin' nicely."

You know he's addressing the mess of colors covering your throat. You idly lift one hand and brush it over the mottled skin, barely feeling any pain at the touch. Though the physical evidence of what happened may be disappearing, the memory is still there. 

"What did happen after we left?" You ask, clearing your throat in an effort to change the subject.

Blanc takes a deep breath, allowing you to ignore his earlier statement. "Few more officers showed up. Trooper Moore had them search the perimeter to see if they could find anythin'--came up empty-handed. Lieutenant Elliot wanted to ask the neighbors some questions but the kid convinced him to wait until morning."

"It was already late when I called." You offer. Blanc doesn't seem thrilled that Joshua didn't let Louie talk to the neighbors. "You'd probably have more luck talking to the news reporters who lived outside my place 24/7 for the past week. 

Blanc's mouth twists. "Yes, the Lieutenant was going to call them tomorrow as well. Said I'd done all I could do for the night and sent me back here after he locked your place up."

You exhale deeply, sinking into the couch and wanting it to swallow you whole. The past month of your life has been the absolute worst, of that you're sure. 

You're surprised when you suddenly feel Blanc's hand gently grasping your own that had been resting on top of the blanket in your lap. You look over at him with wide eyes to see him looking at you, concerned. 

"We're not goin' to let anything happen to you, understand?" He waits for you to respond, so you slowly nod. He squeezes your hand just a little. "I'm sorry somebody did that to you, but it won't happen again."

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry even though you drank basically a whole bottle yourself. Blanc's eyes are a beautiful bright blue, clear, and easy to get lost in without even trying. The two of you watch each other, looking for something, looking for nothing, not saying a word. His eyes briefly drift down, his thumb absently caressing the back of your wrist, before taking a deep breath and looking you in the eye again. He settles into the couch, turning back to the movie and giving it his attention. 

You continue to watch him, unable to just dismiss the moment that passed between the two of you even though he did so flawlessly. He still has your hand in his own, his grip loose enough that you could pull it away if you wanted. But you don't want to. Because his hand is warm and it makes you feel warm, both inside and out. 

Had you not had the wine you would have removed your hand. You would have remembered the conversation you had with yourself about him and how important it was to keep your distance. You would have been more self-conscious about how you were wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. You would have even noticed how his own breathing seemed to pick up when you _didn't_ remove your hand, and how he had to subtly shift in his seat. 

Without the wine, you would have stopped the movie and told him to go to bed instead of having him suffer through the rest of the movie with you--even though it did start to get good about halfway through--and you would have gone to your own room as well. You would have stopped yourself from slowly leaning closer each time he spoke to you about something that happened, trying to listen to his low accent each time he told you a story that related to what was happening on screen. You would have stopped yourself from leaning on his arm, from letting the booze and events of the day catch up to you and make you slowly fall asleep on his side. Without the wine you would have stopped his arm from moving beneath you and gently curling around your waist to pull you closer into his chest, holding you as you eventually drifted asleep.

But you did have the wine--three glasses of it--and you always did have more courage to go for what you wanted when you had a good drink. 


	17. A Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably one of my favorites and also least favorite to write so far, simply because it's kinda dialogue-heavy and it's me trying to make sure everything stays in character for these people LOL
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos! I'm slowly building a stack of chapters over quarantine so hopefully, this means I'll finish the story and will be able to post more frequently than once a week!

When you wake up all you see is black. At first, you think that maybe it's still the middle of the night and you simply forgot to shut the blinds in the bedroom, but then your mind catches up with the events of the past night and you remember that you never went back to your room. 

You blink the sleep from your eyes, tilting your face so you're no longer seeing nothing but black and look at the living room. You must have fallen asleep on the couch. Oh well, you're still tired and yesterday was taxing so you might as well go back to sleep. 

And you plan on doing just that until the pillow you've been resting your head on moves. 

You stiffen, and then your pillow shifts, turning slightly onto its side as a warm band that you hadn't noticed before tightens around your waist, tugging you closer to them. You look up slowly, afraid of what you'll find. Your breath catches when you see that your pillow is none other than Benoit Blanc. 

You have to hold in a gasp in fear of waking him. His eyes are shut and his breathing is soft, so he must still be asleep. It's surprising how much younger he looks while sleeping as he appears totally relaxed, as though nothing could possibly bother him. It's also surprising that the two of you are _sleeping on the couch together._

You look down and find that you're both laying on your sides, legs tangled and his arms wrapped around your waist to stop you from falling off the couch since he's pressed against the back of it, while his chest is lying flat enough that you're able to rest your head just beneath his chin. No wonder your pillow was moving--it's his breathing. 

You slowly relax your limbs, just now noticing that you locked them up when you saw it was Blanc that you had apparently slept on top of all night. As much as you may not want to admit it, but you're _extremely_ comfortable right now. You really shouldn't be, considering you're sleeping on the couch and not an actual mattress, but Blanc is warm and with the way he has his arms wrapped around you, you feel more secure right now than you have in a long time. 

And then someone clearing their throat behind you completely ruins the moment. 

You turn your head as subtly as possible, looking at the foot of the couch where Marta is gawking at the two of you. She's still in her pajamas so she must have just woken up and come downstairs. Of course, this would be the first thing she sees. 

You feel yourself grow hot all of a sudden, and you need to move. You shake your head at her, telling her to be quiet while you carefully lift Blanc's arm that's resting over your waist and remove your legs from his own. You fumble around a little awkwardly, constantly aware of Marta's eyes on the two of you, until you manage to get your feet on the ground and can slide yourself off the couch. You land on the floor as quietly as possible and stand to your feet, refusing to look Marta in the eye. You glance down at Blanc, whose arm now lies limp where you had been laying as he continues to sleep. 

You shuffle your way past Marta quickly and into the kitchen, desperately needing some tea. 

"Oh no you don't," Marta whispers as she follows you, staying close to your side as you go through your normal routine of fixing something to drink. You're happy that the Cabrera's decided to keep everything where it is. Harlan's organizational skills were impeccable, even though Fran was the one who used everything. 

"What?" You ask, trying to feign nonchalance like she _didn't_ just catch you snuggling up to the detective. 

_"What_ was all that about?" She swirls her finger back in the direction the two of you just came from. You put the teapot of water on the stove and wait for it to start boiling, trying to stall from answering her question for as long as possible. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie tastes bitter coming from your mouth. 

She gives a dry laugh and shakes her head. "You two _slept_ together--!"

"Hey!" You hiss, afraid that her voice will wake up the topic of discussion and bring him into the kitchen. "That's just it, Marta. We _slept._ Nothing happened. I had too much to drink and fell asleep on him last night. He was probably too much of a gentleman to wake me up and tell me to go to bed. Nothing else happened. It's not a big deal."

She folds her arms and purses her lips at you, unbelieving of what you're saying for even a second. "I believe that the two of you fell asleep there, but I _don't_ believe that it's not a big deal." You scoff at her as she slides into one of the barstools in the kitchen, watching as you get one of the teabags down for you to use. You get your mug out as well, putting the items on the counter beside the stove. 

"We're two adults, Marta. These things can happen with there being no real meaning behind it." 

When Marta simply hums at your words you know there's no way you'll be able to convince her otherwise. And if you're being completely honest, you don't believe it yourself. You enjoyed your time with Blanc last night--or would it be early this morning?--when the two of you were alone and you shared stories and could speak freely. And you can still remember leaning against him as the hours wore on and how he didn't push you away but instead pulled you closer. You can still remember how nice it felt to be in his arms when you woke up this morning. 

But nothing will ever come from it. You bitterly remember the words you heard him share with Marta a week ago about how there was nothing here for him. You're no exception to that rule. 

Marta goes to say something more but a shuffling has the two of you halting conversation. Blanc walks into the kitchen, his glasses resting on top of his head as he blinks away the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He scratches his chest and smiles warmly at you and Marta in greeting, stepping forward further into the kitchen. 

"Good morning ladies," he stuffs his hands in his pockets, "I'm hopin' I didn't interrupt anything?"

You blush at the same time that Marta gives you a coy smile that Blanc just so happens to miss. You clear your throat and shake your head. "No, nothing at all. Just getting something to drink."

He turns to Marta. "Do you mind if I make some coffee?" 

She shakes her head and gestures for him to help himself. He smiles and walks around you over to the coffee maker to get a pot ready. You stare at Marta, wondering just _what_ is going on right now. How is he acting so calm? Does he know that the two of you slept on the couch all night? Surely he does. But he's not mentioning it. Maybe he doesn't want to say anything in front of Marta? A larger part of you probably thinks he doesn't want to talk about it at all--he's probably just happy it's over. 

Marta waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively, her eyes flickering to the man behind you. You've never wanted to fall into a hole more than at this moment. You shake your head, threatening her with your eyes that if she says a word there will be absolute hell to pay. 

Blanc finishes getting his coffee and comes back over to stand at your side, further surprising you when he places your mug in front of you on the table between you and Marta. You look from the tea to him in confusion, noticing that he's already looking at you out of the corner of his eye while taking a long sip of his coffee. He finishes and places his cup down, nodding at your mug. 

"You said you like a little bit of milk and sugar, right?" 

You blanch, not expecting him to remember how you like your tea. You nod wordlessly, slowly reaching out to pick up the mug without taking your eyes off his. You're confused by this. Why would he make your tea for you?

Why would he remember how you like it?

"Well," Marta says, breaking you and Blanc out of your little staring contest, "what would you like for breakfast? Since my mom made dinner last night it's my turn to make food this morning."

Blanc gives her an easy smile. "You don't have to trouble yourself with making anything for me, Marta."

She shakes her head. "I don't mind. Y/N, I know you like pancakes. Would you be okay with that?"

Blanc nods, picking up his coffee and moving around to sit down in the seat that Marta just stood up from. You remain where you are, watching him curiously as he makes himself comfortable. Marta goes on to do her own thing, moving around the kitchen and grabbing supplies to start cooking. She's purposefully distancing herself in an effort to give you two some privacy--this doesn't go unnoticed by you and you're sure Blanc is aware of it as well--but still remains close enough that she can overhear you if she pays attention close enough. 

"Did you sleep well last night?" Blanc asks quietly, muffling his words with the rim of his coffee cup. 

You nearly choke on your tea at his question. You swallow the hot drink, ignoring the scalding path it sends down your throat straight to your stomach and nodding, ignoring his gaze on you. "Yeah, uh, yeah. You?"

The ends of his lips turn up briefly in amusement. "I don't normally make it a habit to sleep on a couch, but last night was surprisingly comfortable."

Is he _flirting_ with you? Steeling yourself, you look him in the eye seriously, watching as the amused glint morphs into something different. He's watching you, gauging your reaction to his words. 

You want to ask him point-blank what his game is. What his intentions are. He can't say things like he did to Marta about how there's nothing here for him and then show up at your apartment in the middle of the night to make sure you're okay, remember how you like your tea and then let you _sleep on top of him on a couch._

But you've never really been able to read Blanc that well and your crippling fear of rejection makes you keep your mouth shut. 

Blanc glances at something over your shoulder and he hesitates. He slowly sets his coffee on the counter, eyes flickering back and forth between you and whatever is going on behind you. You look over your shoulder and frown when you see Marta immediately turn back to face the stove and act like she wasn't just doing something behind your back. 

She sets down the whisk from mixing the batter and claps her hands together. "I'll be right back; just going to go grab some things from the pantry." She walks smoothly out of the kitchen after that, leaving you and Blanc by yourselves. 

Blanc clears his throat and you face him once again. He straightens in his seat, folding his hands in front of him. If it had been anyone else you would say that it's a sign of nervousness, but Blanc doesn't seem like the kind of guy to get fazed easily. 

"I apologize if you feel uncomfortable with what transpired last night," he starts, but before he can continue you're waving away his words. 

"Please don't apologize for that. I should be the one saying sorry. I had a little too much wine and I'm afraid that when I get some alcohol I can become quite...clingy." You mutter the last words into your tea, trying to hide the red flush you can feel crawling up your body. 

He chuckles at your words and the sound warms you more than your drink. "I hope I don't sound too forward when I say I didn't really mind it that much."

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. You weren't hallucinating earlier: he was flirting. He's _still_ flirting. You don't even bother closing your mouth that has dropped open in shock at his words.

"Y/N," he says lowly, his voice taking on that low southern drawl that you'll never admit out loud makes you melt, "I was wonderin' if you'd like to get di--"

"Something smells good!" Alice's voice calls from just outside the kitchen seconds before she walks in. She pauses when she sees you and Blanc in there by yourselves, frowning slightly as she walks closer and walks over to your side. "Y/N? I thought you went home last night?"

You force yourself to look away from Blanc, trying your best to ignore the slightly disappointed look on his face. He quickly schools his features, nodding at Alice in greeting and smiling at her. But he doesn't finish the question he was asking you. The curiosity of what he was going to say is going to be on your mind for the rest of your life, you're sure of it, but if he's not continuing in front of Alice then maybe it's best if you ignore it as well.

"I did," you say slowly, "but someone broke into my apartment last night. Didn't Marta tell you?"

Alice gasps. "What? No!" She grabs your arms and looks you over. "Were you hurt? Are you okay?"

You smile weakly at her. "I'm fine, Alice. My home isn't that great, though."

"Who did it?"

"Alice!" Marta scolds, walking back into the kitchen. She plants her hands on her hips as she scowls at her younger sister. "What are you doing?"

Alice frowns at her. "What do you mean what am I doing? I'm hungry. It's almost nine o'clock."

"Shit," you mumble, running a hand over your face. That means you only got somewhere around five hours of rest last night. You're in no shape to be dealing with everything that's going on while only having a tiny amount of sleep. 

"How did you end up back here?" Alice turns back to you, ignoring her sister's silent ire. Marta is obviously annoyed about something, but whatever that may be you have no idea. 

Alice leads you to the chairs beside Blanc and makes you sit down beside him before sitting on your other side. You spend the next twenty minutes being bombarded by her rapid-fire questions and trying your best to remain patient and answer each of them. Marta, being the observant person that she is when it comes to her own family, steps in and takes over after a certain point. Alice is angry that she didn't get her and their mother to go help you but acknowledges that everything happened so fast that there wasn't really any time to wake the others up. 

"Thank you," you say as Marta places a plate of pancakes in front of you. Similar ones show up in front of Blanc and Alice and the three of you dig in as Marta continues making a few more pancakes.

Ms. Cabrera joins the four of you a few minutes later, also drawn in by the delicious smell wafting through the kitchen. She's just as surprised to see you as Alice was and just as worried when she hears why you're there. She gives you a tight hug and reassures you that no matter what happens they'll always be there to help you, and you won't lie that her words do make you feel better. You're not sad about losing the possessions from your tiny apartment--everything can be replaced and what really mattered you can go dig out--but you are concerned about _who_ did it and _why?_

"What do you plan on doing today, Detective?" Alice asks, swallowing her mouthful of food. Blanc raises a brow in her direction. "Well you were supposed to talk about the court hearing but if you're involved in the break-in then are you going to help with that instead?"

You look at him for the first time since you all started eating. You're curious as well; does he feel obligated to help Louie and Joshua today or is he going to do what he originally came here to do?

"I appreciate your help last night, Detective," you add softly, trying to ignore the frown he gives you when you address him by his title, "but you've already done so much for me. I'm sure there are more important things that you could be doing than troubling yourself with my bad luck."

"Bad luck?" He murmurs, just as low as you. You turn back to your plate, taking another bite in an attempt to escape the way he's staring at you. "Y/N, what happened to you wasn't a simple case of _bad luck._ Somebody broke into your home and had enough ill intent towards you that they deemed it appropriate to paint a message on your wall."

Blanc's voice is calm as ever as he addresses you, turning in his seat until he's facing your profile and talking directly at you. The Cabrera's are silent during the speech, Marta the only one who seems to be brave enough to even look at you. All of them have stopped eating, the tension in the kitchen building to a point that you're sure it's going to suffocate you. 

You swallow your food and gently place your fork down on your plate, unable to stomach any more food. Though you appear calm and collected on the outside, you're anything but that on the inside. All of your pent up emotions from the past week are building inside of you--anger at being hounded by the press, frustration with your job, your personal turmoil at being around Blanc again, the _hurt_ you felt when he said he was going to Chicago--and you feel like your head is going to explode. 

"I know you said you don't have anything here for you, Detective Blanc," you can't keep the bite out of your voice, surprising not only the four people in the room but also yourself, "so I would hate to make you feel like you need to stay when you don't want to. Excuse me."

You stand without another look at any of them and leave the kitchen, quickly making your way up to the room where you stashed your meager belongings. You shut the door behind you with a sigh, leaning your head on the cool wood for a few seconds as you calm yourself. Once some of the anger building inside has dissipated, you move over to your bag and start pulling out a fresh change of clothes. You go to the bathroom, cleaning yourself up, and making yourself feel much better in the process, and then go back to the bedroom. You pull out your phone, seeing a missed call from the Lieutenant with a voicemail saying to call him back. 

You really wish that Harlan's dogs were here right now, as his German Shepards always did seem to be a type of support animal even though they weren't licensed, but one thing that you and Marta agreed on after Ransom was arrested was that Linda should take them. She always did love them and they loved her just the same, even though you and Marta seemed to spend more time with them. But since Linda is also deciding to get a divorce with Richard then maybe the dogs will be the boost that she needs at this time. 

They may have been rude to you and Marta, and blamed you for Harlan's death, but you're not heartless. You can be better than them.

Your finger hovers over the button to call Louie back, but a knock on your door makes you hesitate. You stiffen, a small feeling of regret settling between your shoulders as you think back to how you acted in the kitchen. Like a complete child. 

"Y/N?" 

_Great._

It's Blanc. His voice is muffled through the wood and he sounds cautious, like he's expecting you to turn him away. You're tempted to do just that, but you know you won't be able to stay away from him forever, especially since you're currently staying under the same roof. Plus, you feel as though you should apologize for your behavior towards the man earlier. He didn't deserve that from you. 

You stand and walk over to the door, opening it for Blanc. He's standing just outside the door frame, hands shoved in the pockets of his pants as he looks down at you carefully. 

"May I come in?"

You step to the side silently and allow him to step into your room, shutting the door a little behind him but still leaving it partially open. He looks around curiously, taking in the decor. He's probably never been in this room since you remember from the investigation that you never saw him go inside any of the bedrooms. 

You cross your arms over your chest, an unconscious protective gesture. "Listen, I need to apologize." 

Blanc turns back to you, a startled look on his face. "Whatever for?"

You sigh, pushing yourself to continue because you know you need to say this. "For the way I acted down there, for what I said to you. That was...unprofessional and rude of me. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

Blanc slowly sinks down until he's sitting on the end of one of the beds. "Y/N, I fear that there's been some confusion. I'm the one who should be apologizin', not you."

You're the one frowning now, just as confused as he appears to be. "What?"

He waves you over to his side. You slowly walk over and sit beside him on the bed, a few inches between the two of you. "What you said back there, I think that you might have the wrong idea and that's my fault."

"Detective, please, I--"

"I thought we agreed to drop the titles?" He interjects softly, one corner of his mouth lifting as he reaches forward to take your hand in his own. You stare down at it, feeling comforted by the way his thumb brushes back and forth soothingly across your knuckles. When you look back up at him you find he's watching you intently, a look on his face that you just can't place. 

"Okay, Benoit," your mouth feels a little odd pronouncing the French name, but the smile that spreads across his face makes you feel a little better. 

"You said that I...that I don't have anything here for me," he starts, "may I ask where you got that idea from?"

You gently pull your hand out of his and look down at your lap, missing the disappointed look on his face in the process. You need to tell him the truth, he deserves that much. You're an adult, you're more than someone who beats around the bush. "I heard you say that there was nothing to keep you here. It made me...I just...I don't like how hearing that made me feel. I reacted like a child. I'm sorry."

The next time you look at him you see that he's frowning. "When did I say that?"

Your face heats. You were hoping to omit this part but you suppose it was going to come out eventually anyway. "You said it to Marta, about a week ago."

A sudden look of understanding crosses his face as he sits up straighter, a soft 'oh' passing through his lips. "I see." He's silent for a few seconds, and in that brief period, you can feel yourself become more embarrassed with yourself for being so childish. "I'm sorry, Y/N, that my words made you feel that way."

You look at him in confusion. "You don't owe me anything."

He shakes his head. "I do, actually. I wouldn't have said that had I known you were listening."

"I shouldn't have been eavesdropping like that."

He smirks at you. "It would be quite hypocritical of me to be angry at someone for listening in on a conversation they're not necessarily a part of."

That gets a weak smile out of you, but it's obviously enough for him judging by the way he seems to brighten. He reaches forward and bravely takes your hand once more, holding it a little more firmly than he was before. You know you still have the option to take it back if you want, but he's letting you know that he doesn't want you to. You don't want to either.

"When I said that I had nothing here, I didn't mean it like that." Now he seems like the one who's having trouble with words, and that's not how you want to make this man feel. 

"You really don't need to explain yourself, it's not necessar--"

"No, it is." He interrupts you again. The frustration in his voice catches you off guard, even though you know it's not aimed at yourself. He's obviously mad at himself over something, but you don't know what that is. "I need you to know that I would not have said that if I knew you were there."

You can't help but feel conflicted. With the words he's saying he's giving off one vibe but his words are a whole other story. "What are you getting at?"

His lips twitch at your frank question. "You have been a steady occupant of my thoughts since the first day I met you, Dr. L/N, and though I've tried to remain professional in your company I've found that to be almost impossible."

_What?_ What is he saying to you right now? You blink at him, dumbfounded, unable to come up with anything to say to that. He takes your silence as his cue to continue. 

He takes a breath--not a big one but bigger than his normal ones--and looks you in the eye, his gaze warm as he looks at your own astonished one. You're surprised he doesn't comment on the sound of your heartbeat because it's absolutely thundering in your ears right now.

"Earlier in the kitchen, I was going to ask if you would like to get dinner. With me."


	18. A Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late but it's here! Some of you guys have been waiting a few weeks for this so I hope it's worth it!
> 
> Thank you all for the reviews/kudos and for being so understanding with my (as of late) haphazard posting schedule. Life, ya know?

"I'm sorry," you say, swallowing past the dryness in your throat, "can you repeat that again? Just so I know I'm not hallucinating."

Blanc chuckles, a faint redness creeping up his throat. "Would you like to get dinner with me?"

You nod, staring at him with wide eyes. "That's what I thought you said but I wasn't sure." You take a deep breath, standing to your feet and gently pulling your hand out of his. He lets you, and you can feel his curious gaze following you as you start to pace around the room. 

A few moments of silence pass by before he speaks up again. "Have I overstepped?"

You pause, looking at him and noticing how though he appears confused, there's a slightly disappointed look on his face. That wasn't your intent and it makes you feel nothing but guilty. You get your bearings once more, moving back to sit by his side on the bed. Some of the smile that he had been wearing earlier is now gone, as if he knows what you're about to say. 

"Ben," you begin, "let me start by saying that you haven't overstepped. At all." He seems to be placated by that response, but you can see the way his expression falls.

"But I'm assuming that your answer is no."

You grimace, slowly nodding your head. It hurts you to do so because you _don't_ want to tell him no. If it had been under any other circumstances, you would be jumping for joy and saying _yes! yes! yes!,_ but these are different times. 

"I see," he murmurs, folding his hands together in his lap. "I'm sorry. My judgement clouded me from seeing that this was nothing more than one-sided--"

"No," you cut him off, this time being the one to reach out and take his hands in your own, "that's not what's going on here."

Now he looks more confused than he was before. He flips his hands over to hold your own almost unconsciously, patiently waiting for you to explain yourself. 

"Ever since I met you, I've been unable to figure you out." His lips twitch upwards a little, giving you the courage to continue. "It's my _job_ to do that and for some reason, you have always been an enigma. That's not a bad thing, by the way," you rush to assure him, and this time some of the smile stays on his face. You let out a shaky breath, giving him a smile of your own. "You're unlike any man that I've ever met, and it's honestly a breath of fresh air. You...you make me feel _safe,_ and that's not something that I ever thought to look for, but somehow I stumbled upon it with you."

Blanc softens, his thumb absently skimming across the back of your knuckles. "I'm glad to hear that I make you feel that way. I want you to know that you can count on me to be there to help you, should you want or need it."

You nod. "I do, I really do. I'm glad you came with Marta last night, even though I might not have acted like it. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

He shakes his head. "Of all the people in the world, you're at the bottom of the list of ones who owe me an apology."

"Must be a short list."

He quirks a brow. "Longer than you would think, actually."

The two of you laugh briefly at that, but once the laughter is gone you know you owe him an explanation, just the same as he said he owed you one for his comment earlier. 

"The reason I'm saying no to dinner is that I just don't...think it's the right time." He frowns, about to say something but you continue before he can get a word out. "The case was closed just a week ago, and the court date is coming up with Ransom shortly. What would the defense lawyers say if they knew that me, a person who inherited half of Harlan's property and is pressing charges against their client for assault and murder, was also seen getting dinner in an unprofessional setting with the person who solved the case and figured out that it was Ransom who had tried to kill Harlan? Wouldn't they think that maybe you had planted the evidence and constructed things in a way that they would paint someone like him in a negative light?"

Blanc mulls over your words, and you can see the picture being painted in his mind. He doesn't seem happy with the idea of it either, but you know you're right. It would be better for everyone if Ransom was locked in jail before you explored this odd relationship that you're developing with the detective any further. 

"Would Ransom truly think of me as that big of a threat?"

You look down at your lap, thinking about the history you have with the blond bastard. Marta is the only one that you've told about what happened between him and you, and even then she still doesn't know everything. Blanc knows nothing. He knows that the two of you had a troubled past from vague side comments that Marta has made, but he deserves to know the truth, and he deserves to hear it from you.

"Ransom would use anything he could to get out of trouble. Bribery, forged evidence, lies--I'd put none of it past him. Especially since I'm pressing more than just murder charges against him." You feel that dark feeling begin to grow inside you once more as you start to trudge through the old memories you have of Ransom, of what he's done to you. "I'm sure that at this point you're aware that Ransom and I used to have a past."

Blanc squeezes your hands briefly. "I am, but you don't need to share the details with me if you don't wish to."

You look at his hands in yours, how big they are, and how they cover your own. Strong and yet gentle in your grasp. Hands that belong to a man who knows when to be firm and when to be soft. The hands of a man that you trust with your life. 

"Harlan wanted me to get close with Ransom. He thought that with my background I'd be a good influence on him. And maybe at first, I was. He was sweet to me, knew what to say, and eventually, I began to develop feelings for him." For some reason, you don't feel awkward telling Blanc this. He listens intently, being the strong confidant that you never noticed you've been missing from your life until he came into it. "And then he started to show his true colors. I saw how he treated Harlan's staff, how rude he was to...to Fran." You pause, pushing down the emotion that threatens to swell as you remember your two friends who were nothing more than victims of Ransom's horrible actions. "And I told him he was being an asshole. He both liked that and didn't like that."

Blanc's voice is quiet when he speaks. "What do you mean by that?"

"He liked it when I fought him. He liked intimidating me and getting in my face just to watch me try to run away." A shudder runs through your body and you close your eyes, trying to push away the images of your past from the front of your mind. Talking about it is one thing, but watching it happen again and reliving it is like living hell. "I told Marta about it, and she made a point to always be at my side when he would come around. He didn't care for it and slowly started to ease off, but I know he wasn't giving up."

"Did you tell Harlan?"

You shake your head. "I didn't want to involve him in any more family drama. He was already going through so much with Joni, Richard, and Walt. I couldn't add more on, no way."

Blanc says your name softly, releasing one hand and lifting his own to gently cup your cheek. He tilts your head up so you look him in the eye, and you're glad to find no pity there, but some other unnamed emotion. He feels bad for what happened, you can tell, but he also looks angry. "Had I known young Mr. Drysdale was like this I would have done something more."

You let out a weak chuckle, shaking your head but not moving away from his touch. He watches you with eyes filled with concern, and you can tell he wants to help you but isn't quite sure how to do so.

"Harlan had me go to Ransom's house one night to check up on him. I didn't want to go but Harlan was afraid something was wrong so I went just in case. I didn't plan on sticking around, so I thought I'd be fine if I went by myself." You take a shaky breath in. "He cornered me, saying horrible things and then he...he kissed me, and I slapped him. But the sick bastard _liked_ it. I ran. I had been studiously avoiding Ransom since then, but there would be times when he would come to the house for family functions and I would be forced to be in the same room as him. He would watch me and it would do nothing but make my skin crawl. I hate him. I think even when I thought I liked him I hated him even then."

Blanc surprises you by grasping your arms and tugging you forward into his chest, wrapping his arms securely around your frame as you bury your head beneath his chin. You curl your own arms around him and feel yourself relax in his embrace, for the first time allowing yourself to enjoy the secure feeling that he gives you. You should have never fought him or the feeling he brings you. 

"I may not have known you back then, but I know you now, Y/N. I can see what kind of person you are and the goodness inside of you. Ransom won't be able to reach you ever again. I promise you that."

You sniffle, refusing to cry anymore. Blanc's words make you feel warm and coupled with how he's holding you against him you feel as though you could do anything. It's amazing to you that one man could make you feel this way, and yet, Blanc has managed to do just that. 

"But this," you say, gently pulling away a little until you can sit up once more and look him in the eye, "this is why I'm saying no. But only for now. Ransom and I have a history and I don't want you to get tangled up into this. It would kill me if he sunk his claws into you as well and you or your reputation were damaged because of it."

Blanc studies you for a few seconds, scanning your face and mulling over your words. "You truly believe that he is as big a problem as you fear?" You nod. "Do you think he might have had something to do with your home being ransacked?"

"Isn't he in custody? How could he possibly have anything to do with that? I also moved a little while ago, he doesn't know where I live."

Blanc frowns, rubbing one hand over his chin in thought. "I suppose that's true. I can have the Lieutenant check in just to make sure."

"Louie," you say quietly, remembering that he called you and you were about to return his call when Blanc walked in. "I need to call him back. He wanted to talk to me."

Blanc nods, glancing over at your phone on the bed. "I suppose that I'll leave you to your business then." Blanc hesitates, glancing back at you. "Thank you for sharing your story with me, Y/N."

You hold his hand tightly in between your own. "I trust you, Ben." You take a breath in. "And after this is all over, I would love to get dinner with you."

He smiles, his blue eyes lighting up with a mixture of surprise and joy. "Truly?"

You nod, smiling back at him as well. You want to prove to Blanc that you're being serious, that you really _do_ want to go out with him but that the current circumstances are just a bit too complicated. 

You cup his cheek this time, feeling his soft skin beneath your touch and the gentle pressure he gives as he leans into it. He looks at you as though you're the only person in the world, his entire being fixated on you and you alone. You lean forward slowly, watching him carefully to see if he pulls away or makes any indication that he doesn't want this to happen. But instead of doing that, he moves forward far more quickly than you were and then almost immediately pulls away in the same instance. It nearly gives you whiplash how fast he moves and you pull back as well, blinking at him as he clears his throat in something akin to embarrassment. 

"You just told me of what Ransom did to you and here I am actin' like a hormonal teenager--"

You let out a laugh at Blanc's words, touched that he would be so conscious of how you might be feeling. You cut him off by leaning forward and pressing your lips to his, effectively silencing his speech. 

At first, Blanc is almost...stiff, as though he hasn't been kissed before and doesn't know how to react. But then after a few beats have passed he surges forward as he did just moments ago, though perhaps a little gentler. One of his hands slips around your waist while the other slides up to the base of your head, gently guiding it until it's angled so that he can deepen the kiss. You twine your arms around the back of his neck, hugging your bodies against one another. 

Your heart was beating loudly inside your ears as a hum spread from your fingertips down to your toes. Blanc's touch, smell, taste...all of him invade your senses at that moment. His fingers sink into your skin, both caressing it and pulling you closer at the same time as though he's afraid you'll slip away and the moment will be gone. Before this moment in time, you had never thought there could be something as perfect or right as this, but you suppose this can just be added to another list of things that Benoit Blanc has done to shock you. 

When the two of you part for air you crack your eyes open, sneaking a peek at his face as he lingers just a breath away, not quite ready to pull away just yet. His lashes fan across the top of his cheekbones as he inhales deeply, lips slightly parted and red from your wanted attack of them. They look so enticing at that moment that you can't stop yourself from leaning forward once more and brushing over them with your own. He leans into it, parting them slightly and you find yourself doing the same as his tongue swipes out across your lower lip. You feel yourself begin to get sucked more into the oblivion that doing such an action can bring a person and you don't think twice before sinking your teeth into his plump lower lip and biting down on it. The groan that he lets out simultaneously makes your stomach flutter and your mind rise out of the water it had been happily descending into. 

You pull away from his touch and cover your mouth, borderline horrified with yourself that you did such a thing to him. He blinks his eyes open, looking at you as though he's confused as to why you would stop. 

"Oh my god," you say softly, looking down at his bruised mouth and the red marks left behind from your bite, "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

He lifts one hand to brush his fingers over his lips, a smirk crawling across his face. He starts laughing, eyes nearly shutting as he tips his head back and the happy sound fills the room. You feel yourself slowly relax as well, smiling as you watch him laugh. 

When he recovers he shakes his head, giving you a happy grin. "I quite liked it, actually. I'm glad to know you were so concerned, though."

The relief you feel is refreshing. You let out a laugh of your own. "That was my promise to you, Ben. After this is over, I'll be waiting for you."

Blanc lifts your hand up so he can press his lips that were just on yours to your knuckles. "After that taste, I don't know how I'll be able to wait, but I suppose I'll have to try."

His words make you blush and you shake your head good-naturedly. He stands, looking down at you with one of the softest expressions you've ever seen. "I'll leave you to make your call. Please come find me if you need anything." He squeezes your hand before releasing it. "I hope this has managed to fix some things between us."

You clear your throat, thinking back to the intense kiss you just shared with the man. "I would say so, yeah."

He gives you a cocky grin before exiting the room, gently shutting the door behind him on his way out. You flop back onto the mattress with a sigh, covering your face with your arm. Your mind is telling you _you need to wait, you don't want to get him into any possible trouble,_ while your body is screaming _FOLLOW HIM!_

You grab your phone, pushing both of the voices to the side and pressing the call button on Louie's number. It will be good to take your mind off what just happened so you can cool down, especially before you have to go out and see Marta and the others. They don't know that you're not upset with Blanc anymore, let alone that you just had a makeout session with him. 

The phone rings three times before Louie picks it up. _"Hello?"_

"Louie? Hey, I saw you called earlier. Is everything okay?"

There's a brief pause on the other side of the phone. _"Trooper Wagner and Trooper Moore have been in contact with your neighbors and the media vans that had been stationed here the past week. Coincidentally the media left before there was any sign of anyone showing up here, and the neighbors didn't hear or see any suspicious activity."_

"So there are no witnesses who could've seen who did this," you say dejectedly. No leads. 

_"No. I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm sure this is probably the last thing you wanted to deal with what with everything else you have going on."_

"That's not your fault, Lieutenant. I appreciate your involvement in this. It makes me feel a little better to know that a familiar face will be helping."

There's some shouting on the other end of the phone. Louie must cover the receiver because his response is muffled. _"It's the least I can do. You should be free to come get stuff from your apartment by tomorrow, forensics just wants to see if they can get any possible prints first. You stayin' safe?"_

You think back to how you told Blanc that he makes you feel safe--safer than you've felt in a long time. "Yeah, I'm good. I've got a whole team behind me."

_"Glad to hear it. I'll give you another call tomorrow."_

"Thank you, Louie."

_"Anytime."_

He hangs up and you toss your phone off to the side. You continue to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling while you think over everything that's happened. Of all the events, which one should you focus on first? You need to meet with the lawyers who are handling your case, but they're not coming to speak with Marta until tomorrow. Blanc said he was also here to discuss things regarding the case. What does he have to say about that? You should have asked him when he was in here with you but the two of you were...otherwise occupied. 

You can still feel the phantom touch of his lips on your own and his firm hold on your body, secure and strong. The way he knew how to hold you, touch you, kiss you...it makes your body react in ways that it hasn't in years. The sound he made when you bit his lip still echoes in your ears. You never knew that men could make such sexy sounds. 

Maybe you should focus on finding a new home. You can't stay here with Marta forever--you were serious when you told her you'd never live in this house, not after everything that's happened--and now that you have the funds for it you can afford a nice home. Maybe there will be a nice one for sale nearby. 

Yeah, that sounds like a good start. You stand up and fix your clothes then your hair, adjusting them so it hides what you were just doing in the room. 

Time to face the others. 


	19. A New Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how long this story will end up being, but knowing my writing style it will be at least 100k (RIP my free time). 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos! <3

Marta is on her laptop in the living room when you finally decide to go downstairs. She glances up at you, a concerned look on her face. They don't know that you and Blanc have 'kissed and made up'. 

"Is everything okay?" She asks, moving her feet from the cushion to make room for you to sit down. You flop onto the couch with a sigh, feeling lighter than you have in a long time. 

"Yeah, actually. I feel better than I have in a while." You're surprised by just how true that statement is. "I'm sorry about the...scene I made in the kitchen. I shouldn't have acted like that."

She pats your arm. "You've been dealing with a lot lately. I just thought that he would..." she shakes her head with a sigh, focusing back on her laptop. You watch her curiously, wondering what she was about to say. "Nevermind. It's not important."

Your lips twitch upwards briefly. "You thought that Blanc would ask me to dinner?"

Her fingers pause over the keys as she whips her head to look at you. You can't help but laugh at the shocked look on her face, watching the way her eyes widen. 

"He did ask you!"

You calm your laughter, nodding your head. She smiles widely at you. "Yes, he did ask, after I apologized profusely for my abhorrent behavior."

She snaps her laptop shut quickly, twisting in her seat so she can give you her full attention. "I've been telling him to ask you for a while now! I had been hoping he would have done something sooner, but I guess the timing just wasn't right." She clasps her hands with yours. "When are you going out?"

Your happy smile turns a little sadder as you break the news to her. "The timing still isn't quite right, Marta. I said no."

She leans back with a frown. "Why? Don't you like him? I thought you liked him."

"I do like him," you explain, "but with everything that's going on right now I think it's best if we just wait a while."

If you didn't know any better then you would say that Marta was _pouting_ at your response. She sighs, leaning back into the frame and looking ahead at the TV that's playing some random daytime television show. 

"I understand." She glances over at you. "Are you waiting for the court case to be taken care of?"

You nod. "I don't trust Ransom. At all. I don't want him to somehow fabricate fake evidence that would work in his favor because Blanc and I were seen getting dinner. I don't want him to unintentionally get hurt because of me. It would kill me."

Marta nods sympathetically. "It'll be worth the wait, I'm sure of it."

The memory of the kiss comes to the forefront of your mind. Do you tell Marta about it? You don't think you should, at least not yet. It's already complicated enough that the two of you have admitted you have feelings for one another but can't pursue it--it would be best to just wait before you bring the relationship to light. If you can even really call it a relationship.

You glance down at her lap. "Can I borrow your computer?" You ask. She hands it over to you wordlessly. "I want to look for some houses in the area and find a good real estate agent."

"Yeah?" She asks, a little more upbeat with the change of topic. "Are you going to buy one like this?"

You make a face. "Maybe not as big. I always thought this house had too many rooms. It's nice for you guys because there are a few of you living here now, but I did always think it made Harlan feel even lonelier when it was empty. I don't want to experience that."

A cloud seems to settle over the two of you at the mention of your late friend. You're quick to open up a search engine and bring up some real estate websites, the two of you pouring over the reviews for each person, and the pictures of some houses for the next hour. You never thought you would have this much fun shopping for a house, but then again you never thought that you would have the money to be comfortable enough to buy whatever kind of house you want. 

_Thank you, Harlan._

* * *

"I'm going to run to the store. Alice is going to be coming with me so you three can have some time to discuss...you know," Mrs. Cabrera walks into the living room with her purse on her shoulder, "do you want me to get you anything?"

You and Marta shake your heads and say goodbye to her and Alice on their way out. For the past hour, you and Marta have managed to find a couple of homes that you'd be interested in checking out, but none of them have really caught your interest too much. You get the idea that Marta is more excited than you are to be house shopping. 

"Are you...nervous at all?" Marta asks in the silence of the house. Blanc has been up in his room making calls since he finished his talk with you so the two of you are alone for now. "It's moving so fast. I don't know if I'm ready."

You squeeze her hand in yours. "We still have a month before the court date. It's moving fast because of all the publicity surrounding the whole mess. It's plenty of time for us to work with our lawyers and make a good enough case that will lock Ransom up for the rest of his life."

Marta makes a face when you mention his name, and you can't say you don't feel like spitting when you say it as well. "I guess you're right."

"You guess?" You joke, pulling a weak smile from her. "We're paying good money for the lawyers we have, Marta. Harlan trusted them and it helps that Linda isn't helping to work Ransom's case. I'm nervous, I'll admit, but I'm trying to stay positive."

"And you shouldn't worry," Blanc adds as he walks down the steps and over towards the couch, his hands shoved in his pockets, "I have faith that everythin' will end up for the best, even though things didn't start out that way." He walks around and sits down on the couch on your other side, this time leaving no space between you. Judging by the way Marta shifts in her seat you can tell that you're not the only one who noticed the change. His thigh presses alongside your own, his hands resting on his lap. 

"Has Lieutenant Elliot said anything more?"

Blanc lets out a large breath. "Ransom is currently in the custody of the police and under surveillance until the court date."

"Has he been given a set bail?"

He frowns as he answers your question. "The judge initially denied him bail. First-degree murder, assault, and the other litany of crimes he's been charged with makes it hard to convince someone they should be given the opportunity to roam free before justice is served." He looks at you now, his gaze soft. "Louie has reassured me that Mr. Drysdale was not able to break into your home and do the damage that was discovered. They checked the cameras and he was in his cell all night."

You frown. This news both reassures you but also makes you more anxious. That means that somebody else is out there and has some sort of vendetta against you.

"Then who could have broken into my apartment?"

Blanc shakes his head. "I do not know, but I was advised to keep you in my sight for the time being, just until we know your life isn't in any danger."

The idea of Blanc being around you for the foreseeable future doesn't upset you as much as one might expect, but it's unsettling that you even need to have someone around to 'protect' you even so. 

"But they haven't found any new leads?" Marta questions. 

"As far as they know, the case of Ransom Drysdale and the burglar of Y/N's home are two completely different things. Trooper Moore is currently investigatin' every possible lead out there."

"Louie said I'll be able to go get my stuff tomorrow." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Just when I thought things were starting to calm down, this happens." You lean your head back against the couch. For the past three weeks, you've been on a roller coaster that felt like it was only going down. From Harlan's death to the case to Fran's death and Ransom and now this. 

Blanc's warm hand envelops your own. You look over to find him already watching you. "This will all be over soon."

"Yeah," Marta adds, nudging you with her elbow, "and then you can get dinner with that guy you've been talking about."

Your face heats up in embarrassment as your jaw drops in shock at her words. She stands from the couch with a loud laugh, moving quickly out of the living room. It's as though she would know that you would beat her up if you could. 

Blanc chuckles at your side as you let out a groan, covering your face with your free hand. 

"Is there someone else I should know about?"

"Hey," you point a finger at him, trying your best not to laugh when you get a glimpse of the grin on his face, "she let it out that she's apparently been trying to get you to ask me out for a while now?"

His laughter subsides and he squeezes your hand before standing from the couch. "That is true, I won't deny."

You hum, looking up at him. He gently pulls you to your feet as well and the two of you walk towards the kitchen. You enjoy the feel of Blanc's hand in yours, and just having him at your side makes you feel better. You decide to change the subject away from the two of you before you say something stupid or Marta overhears anything else she can gossip about. 

"So if you were told to stay close by, when are you going back to your sister's?"

You walk into the kitchen first, moving over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water for you and him. He takes on with a small thank you before sitting at the counter once more. 

"I was merely visitin' her. I most likely would have stayed until another case came by, but current events have demanded my presence to remain here for a while longer." He smiles at you over the top of the bottle. "I'm not completely opposed to it."

You take a drink from your own water, enjoying the cool rush of it running down your throat. "That's good. Are you going to be staying here?"

He purses his lips in thought for a moment. "I was originally plannin' on stayin' with the Cabrera's for a few days at most. I can go back to my apartment, it's just farther away."

"And you're okay with going almost an hour away?"

He pulls a face. "I'd rather not, no. I'm assumin' you're staying here?" You nod. "Then I'll either have to ask to extend my stay or, if you'd be comfortable with it, you could stay at my apartment with me. You've already been there once."

You blink at him, not expecting him to offer for you to stay with him. "I still have to go to work. Your place is in the opposite direction of my job." 

He places his bottle on the tabletop. "Yes, I know. It would be best if we stayed here. I'll be drivin' you to work in the morning and then pickin' you up once you're done. I won't hover over you, but I'd like to be by your side when you go out."

You think over his words. "I guess that's okay." You wonder what kind of toll doing all this for you must have on him. He's already done so much and now here he is, practically becoming your second shadow. "I just...feel bad about all of this."

He frowns. "Why?"

You shrug. "I don't know, I just feel like you could be doing better things with your time."

He fixes you with a serious look. "Y/N, I thought we talked this over this mornin'--"

"No, no," you wave his words off, moving around the counter and slipping into the seat beside him. He faces you, giving you his hand when you reach for it, "I'm not talking about that. Ben, you are basically becoming my unpaid bodyguard. This isn't fair to you. You were probably expecting to be done with all of this when you closed the case."

He chuckles. "Darlin', I am rarely done with a case once I've solved it. Nothin' is ever truly over."

The term of endearment warms you up inside and you find yourself melting just the tiniest bit. "Still, let me just add this to my list of things that I owe Benoit Blanc."

His grin makes you smile as well. "You don't owe me anything, but I do love hearin' you say my name."

"You do?"

"I do," he nods, "not many people can pronounce it correctly. It was amusin' the first few years of my life, but then it just became a regular occurrence. It's refreshin' to hear someone say it properly."

"Well, Benoit," you say cheekily, "I won't say that it simply rolls off the tongue, but it is rather pretty."

"As is yours," he murmurs, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to it. Always the gentleman.

* * *

The next morning you wake up at a little past 7. It's a Sunday and you usually like to sleep in on Sundays, but for some reason you were tossing and turning the whole night, your sleep nothing but restless. The previous night before Mrs. Cabrera and Alice had returned from the store, the three of you managed to have a civilized discussion on the upcoming court date and Blanc gave his own input on some things, telling you what he had heard from Lieutenant Elliot and other officers working with him. He managed to reassure you and Marta, even though you knew that there was already a minuscule chance that Ransom could possibly get away with what he had done. 

But there was still a chance, and that was what had plagued your dreams that night. 

Visions of Ransom showing up at your apartment while you're asleep, hovering over your bed with the same knife he had attempted to stab Marta with clutched tightly in his hand, only this time it was real, and then him shoving it into your chest continued to make you wake up in a cold sweat. But each time you tried to go back to sleep it was the same dream, just playing again and again. 

So when you look out the window and can see the sun you know there's no point in trying to get any more sleep. You grab your bag of meager belongings and take it into the bathroom, deciding to get dressed and cleaned up early for the day. Since you're going to be going back to pack more things from your apartment you decide a simple pair of jeans and a maroon sweater are for the best. Comfy and casual and easy to move around in. 

You're surprised when you walk down the stairs and find Blanc lying on the couch again, in a similar fashion to how he did the previous morning. He's awake and staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head, but he moves to sit up when he sees you coming down the stairs. You make your way over to him, confused as to why he isn't in bed. 

"I thought you'd still be sleeping?"

He moves over and makes room for you to sit beside him. You sink into the cushions, waiting for him to respond. He looks tired as well, though maybe less than you feel. 

"Too many thoughts runnin' through my head. Elliot called me last night before I went to sleep."

That catches your attention. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, nothing to worry about," he brushes your concern off, but you catch something in the shift of his tone. 

You fix him with a stern look, leaning forward until he's looking directly at you. "Blanc, don't forget that I can tell when someone is lying to me."

He sighs, looking all over your face and down at your clothes. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Louie told me that I can get my stuff today. Don't change the subject."

He knows he's caught now and yawns, scratching the back of his neck in an attempt to feign nonchalance. "Just told me that they still haven't found anything about who broke into your apartment. But they have cameras set up outside and inside now, and since I'm going to be sticking by your side nothing is going to happen."

You frown. He's not lying, he is telling that truth, but you get the feeling that he's leaving out more of the story. You decide not to push it, not wanting to seem intrusive. If it's truly important to you then he would tell you. 

"But why are you awake, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I also couldn't sleep," you admit, "just kept seeing the same thing over and over every time I closed my eyes."

You can feel his eyes watching you. "What was that?"

You're quiet for a few moments. "Ransom. With a knife. I felt like a child with a nightmare."

"Y/N, that was a nightmare. But just because you had one doesn't make you a child." He reaches out and gently pulls you close to his side until he can wrap his arm around your waist, tugging until you're leaning against his chest and he's holding you in his arms. Almost immediately you feel a wave of relief wash over you. A large yawn escapes you before you can hold it back, surprising you. Of course now that you're ready to start the day you feel like you can go back to sleep. 

One of his hands drifts up and gently brushes over your throat. You tilt your head up to find him already looking down at you, a small furrow between his brows. His eyes shift down and lock with yours, and the amount of concern you see there takes you off guard. This man, someone you've known for just under a month now, has made you feel things you've never felt before and seems to genuinely care for you. 

He is one of a kind, truly, but you knew that from the moment you met him. 

"Does it hurt?" His voice is barely above a whisper, as though he's afraid to break the trance that has settled over the two of you. 

"No, not anymore," you say back, a small shudder running down your body when his fingers skim over a particularly sensitive spot at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His hand pauses when you react to his touch, and then after a brief second, it starts moving again. It trails down to the hollow of your throat and then back up on the other side, his touch as soft as a feather. You close your eyes, leaning into his hold and enjoying the soft caresses of his hand. 

You should pull away. You said no to dinner because you want to keep a professional distance between the two of you until after everything has been settled, and yet here you are practically laying on top of him while he touches every bit of skin you have exposed. You should have known after you lost your self-control and kissed him that maintaining that distance would be near impossible. In fact, you did know that, but you at least expected yourself to last more than one day. 

His hand trails up your chin and over your cheek, his thumb brushing just barely over your bottom lip. You want to kiss him again, extremely so, but restrain yourself. His hand drops down and settles on your waist, fingers curling around your hip and holding you in place. 

"It's still quite early and I don't expect the others to wake for a while yet," he says softly, "you should try to get more sleep."

"I can't sleep," you argue, still not opening your eyes as you relax against him, "nightmares."

He shifts on the couch, leaning against the back of one of the sections and pulling you with him until the two of you are semi-reclined on the couch. 

"Sleep here," he says, letting out a yawn of his own, "if you have a nightmare then I'll be here."

The idea sounds appealing, and so you decide to give it a try. The night before you didn't have any trouble when you slept with him, so maybe you'll be able to get at least a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep with him now. 

"You should sleep, too," you argue, adjusting your head on his chest. 

"I'll try."

Your breathing evens out, and less than two minutes later you're asleep. Blanc follows you five minutes later.


	20. A Bad Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the comments you guys left on the last chapter made me feel some type of way and if I had the power to make Benoit Blanc give you all a hug then I would do it in a heartbeat. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter :)

The week that follows goes just about as smoothly as one might think. 

The following day, all of you save for Alice and Mrs. Cabrera go to your apartment and begin the task of packing things up. You and Marta manage to gather up your clothing and other small belongings, but when it comes to your pots and pans and furniture you know you won't be able to bring those back to the house. So you make the call and get a moving crew in to pack everything up and store it in a storage unit for the time being. There isn't much--just a couch, recliner, and about eight boxes of other belongings--but you don't think you'll be going too long without getting your own place so you decide it's fine to splurge for a month or so. 

The first day that you have to go back to work, you once more try to convince Blanc that he doesn't need to come and reassure him that you'll be just fine, but he insists on taking you there and picking you up. He's ready to go by the time you come down the stairs and already holding the door open with a smile for you to walk through. The two of you make light conversation on your way to work, and when he drops you off he tells you he'll be waiting outside the office at 6 o'clock. The days pass smoothly and he's always waiting outside at the same time just as he said, ready to pick you up and bring you back to the house. 

The nights at the house also seem to get into a routine as well. Marta isn't working right now--she wants to take care of the case before she goes looking for another job, even though she doesn't need one--and so her and her family have been relaxing for the most part, working with the lawyers during the day when they need to and just enjoying the break they've been granted in life. 

Alice is still going to her school, even though Mrs. Cabrera was reluctant to allow her to continue doing so at first. You reassured her that pulling her away from her social life at this time wouldn't help, and then told Alice that if things did start becoming too much at school that she was to say something right away. She agreed, although she also said that so far the only ones who were really aware of her newfound wealth were her closest friends and a few of the teachers. Nobody had started treating her any differently so for now she was content at her school. 

Your nights of sleep are either a hit or a miss. Some nights you get a full night's rest without a single thing in your head--dream or nightmare--while some other nights you struggle to get more than two consecutive hours of sleep at a time. Your nightmare morphs, sometimes from you being stabbed by Ransom to Marta to her sister to her mother. They haunt you and more than once you find yourself sitting in the windowsill of your room and looking out to the stars, trying to calm down. It works about half the time. 

Your coworkers are suddenly a lot more sociable with you. They were always nice but now it seems like they're trying to become a true friend, and you're not stupid in the same way they're not stupid. You know it's just a ploy for them to get closer to your money, so you just keep your relationships with them the same way they were before you inherited Harlan's wealth. Theresa is the only one that you feel is being genuine, so you find yourself eating lunch with her instead of hiding away in your office by yourself. A few of your clients have also questioned you on your money, while most of them seem too shy to say anything about it. Jamie hasn't said a single word about it, instead choosing to gush over how many new improvements to his own home he's made since he accepted his new job. You still don't know quite what it is he's doing, just that he's working for a private contractor. He seems happy enough and his self-confidence appears to be improving, so you don't push. For now.

* * *

"How was work?" Blanc asks as you slide into your passenger seat, shutting the door and leaning back into the headrest with your eyes closed. Last night had been one of the more sleepless ones, so after five sessions and filing in between, you're ready to take a long winter's nap. 

"Exhausting," you murmur, giving him a small smile. He pulls out onto the road and begins driving back to the house. "How was your day?"

"Had to run back to my apartment today to gather some more clothes," he flicks on the blinker as he turns onto the highway, "but other than that, rather uneventful." You hum at him in acknowledgment, too sleepy to form a full reply. He glances over at you briefly before focusing back on the road. "I hope this doesn't sound impolite, but you do look rather tired."

You chuckle at that, struggling to sit up straighter in your seat so you don't fall asleep. "Sleep's been rough these past few nights."

It's his turn to hum at your words. "Still havin' bad dreams?"

"You could say that," you murmur, looking out the window at the passing landscape. The sun started to set almost half an hour ago. Since it's getting later in the year and daylight saving's time is in full effect, it's been getting darker at earlier hours. "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I usually just stay up until I'm too tired and then try to get a few hours of sleep."

He's silent for a few moments. "And you wouldn't recommend sleeping pills?"

You scoff, turning over to look at him. He does look genuinely worried over your apparent lack of sleep, though you're not too concerned. Not yet anyway. 

"No, I try not to push my clients towards those either unless absolutely necessary. I'd hate to rely on them when I get the feeling that the reasoning behind my nightmares will hopefully go away in a month's time." You also know that's wishful thinking, but you're nothing if not stubborn. 

Blanc seems almost like he wants to say something more, but he refrains. He stays silent and you're okay with that. You leave him to whatever is running through his head and close your eyes again before slumping back in your seat. Maybe you should just relax for a few minutes...you'll be back at the house before you know it anyway...

* * *

Your name being called in a soft, low, southern accent drags you from the thick of your sleep. You open your eyes and find yourself staring right into the glass of the passenger side window. You sit up, a large yawn escaping you as you begin to reach for your buckle with clumsy fingers. You're surprised when a warm hand calmly stops yours and undoes it for you. You look over to find Blanc watching you with a knowing look in his eye. You look forward and see that you're sitting in the driveway of the house, the car already off and Blanc's door already open. While you reach down and gather your purse, he climbs out of your car and shuts the door before moving over to your side. He opens the door for you and helps you out with a strong hand on your elbow before shutting it behind you. Together, with his hand resting on your back, the two of you walk across the gravel and up the steps to the door. He opens it and you step through, mindlessly kicking your heels off and walking into the living room. 

"Y/N," Marta smiles when you walk into view, and then some of her smile slips when she gets a better look at you, "you look tired."

A large yawn escapes you as you flop onto the couch and immediately lay down so you can lay your head in her lap. You close your eyes as she starts carding her fingers through your hair, the soothing feeling once more lulling you into sleep. "So tired," is the only explanation you can manage. 

"I hate to say this," Blanc says as he walks into the living room as well, leaning against the doorframe, "but it's only a little past 6:30. It would be wise to stay awake for a while longer, Miss L/N."

You groan, just barely hearing Marta's stifled laugh over the sound of it. "I guess you're right, _Mr._ Blanc." You emphasize his title, cracking one eye open to look at the grin on his face. 

"Let's get you some dinner, and then I can tell you what Mama and I talked about today with the lawyers. Then you can go to bed." Marta rubs one hand over your back lightly with her words. 

That gains your attention. You manage to sit up, running a hand through your now-messed-up hair. "They were here today?"

She nods, but she doesn't look upset. It must not have been that bad, then. 

The three of you move into the kitchen, where you see covered plates sitting on the table. Marta and Blanc sit down and she pushes one over to you, along with a set of utensils and water. 

"Mom and Alice already ate," Marta explains for the reasoning as to why the three of you are alone, "Alice is spending the night at a friend's and Mom went to go see a movie with some friends."

Considering it's a Friday night, you're glad they're able to go out and enjoy themselves. You just wish you could sleep for the next fourteen hours.

You uncover the plate, exposing some mashed potatoes with roast beef and mixed vegetables. Your stomach rumbles and you dig in, not even caring that the food is no longer warm. 

"So," you say after swallowing a bite and taking a sip of water, "what did they want? How long were they here for?"

Marta folds her hands on the table before her thumbs start fumbling around, and it makes you pause with your fork lifted halfway to your mouth. She only does that when she's nervous. 

"They asked us about some of the evidence we were submitting."

"Which was?"

Blanc, sitting in the chair next to you, reaches over and gently pushes your hand down so it's no longer suspending your food in the air. He keeps his hand on your own, and you know it's meant to be comforting. 

"The audio recording that Trooper Wagner had taken. Along with the wheel of knives--specifically the one that he used to attack Marta with."

You let your fork clatter onto your plate, your food forgotten as you frown at the other two. "Why? What's wrong with that evidence? It's _sound."_

"It should be," Marta agrees, "and for the most part it is."

"However, Mr. Drysdale's lawyers are spinnin' a tale that the evidence was fabricated and therefore shouldn't be used as in court."

"It's a literal recording of him saying that he plotted to murder Fran, and then admitting to some of what he did to Harlan." Your hand tightens into a fist as you feel yourself become angrier with each passing second. Why didn't they call you and tell you this happened earlier?

"We know that," Blanc says, squeezing his hand on your own until it loosens out its fist and he can thread his fingers through your own, "the lawyers know that, and _his_ lawyers know that. The evidence, whether Ransom says it is fake or not, will be submitted to the court."

You look at him, flabbergasted. "Then what's the point of even saying it's fake in the first place? Ransom is stupid, sure, but even he knew evidence such as that would be credible."

"He wanted to be granted bail." Marta's voice is deadpan when she speaks. "Unfortunately they did."

"What?" Your voice is a hoarse whisper. 

"Hey," Blanc's voice sounds like it's far away when he tries to gain your attention. You look over at him, wide-eyed, and you're sure the fear is evident on your face. "The judge granted him bail, but set it at six point two million. Mr. Drysdale doesn't have that money, and his parents already refuse to help him in this mess."

"Linda did, sure," you manage to get out, "but what about Richard? He might pay it to get his son out. He was already willing to bribe the cops not to take him into custody in the first place."

Blanc's mouth quirks upwards. "Richard Drysdale and Linda Drysdale are going through the long process of what I'm afraid is going to be a rather nasty divorce. Linda has made her own company, of which Richard has no part of. He won't have the money either, even if he wanted to pay it."

Blanc's words do manage to make you calm down a little, but you can still feel the tension in your shoulders. The anxiety and the fear of _what if_ running through your veins. 

"Y/N," Blanc murmurs, taking his other hand and gently turning your chin until you're looking him in the eye. "Lieutenant Elliot is more than aware of the change and has promised that he has many people monitoring the situation. If by some miracle he managed to pay the obscene sum, then we would be the first to know. Even then, the restrictions on Ransom would be that he is under house arrest and would not be able to go in public without an escort. But that's not going to happen." His finger brushes softly over your skin, soothing you. "I won't let him get near you, not again. You and Marta will both be safe, I swear it."

You nod. "Okay, okay. You're right--he probably won't get it paid anyways." 

"He won't," Blanc says firmly, "I've seen that kind of person before--they'd prefer to live a lavish lifestyle and rub it in the less fortunate's face than have nothing. And that's exactly what he would have if he sold everything under his name to even try to pay something like that. He's the type of person who would rather be in prison with money than be out here with nothing."

You pick up your fork in your other hand, not letting go of Blanc's as it moves to rest on top of your knee under the table, still entwined with your own, and try to go back to your meal.

"Don't worry, Y/N," Marta's voice is gentle like she's talking to a scared child, which if you're honest, you appreciate right now, "I'm not. He's not getting out, and he'll get exactly what he deserves."

You manage to eat half your plate, worrying the whole time even with their reassurances. You believe them--they sure believe what they're saying themselves--but there's just that tiny part of you who has seen the nastier side of Ransom more than most others and is just... _afraid._

God, you hope they're right.

* * *

The revelation about Ransom manages to wake you up enough that you stay awake for a little over three hours more. But just before the clock strikes ten you feel your eyelids drooping once more and you know you need to get into your own bed before you fall asleep on the couch again. You wave goodnight to the others and make your way up the stairs, moving through your nightly routine slowly before finally climbing under your covers. It doesn't take you very long before you're asleep, but unfortunately, it's not a dreamless one.

* * *

_"In for a penny," Ransom snarls before grasping the hilt of one of the knives and yanking it off the wheel. It's almost as if your feet are stuck in cement while he lunges towards you, slow as he may be, and you can't move out of the way. Even worse is that there's nobody else in the room to stop him or get you out of the way, either._

_His hand lands roughly on your shoulder. gripping so as to hold you in place, as the other forcefully shoves the knife directly into your stomach._

_And this knife isn't fake this time._

_Pain like you've never known runs through your whole body and you cry out, clutching around the weapon, seemingly able to move when it's already too late. He laughs maniacally above you, a satisfied glint in his eye. This is what he's wanted, this is what he wants, this is what he never give up on until he's achieved it. Your death._

_He releases his hand on your shoulder and shoves you backward until you're falling through the air to the ground. His face grows smaller and darker as blood drips through your fingers and your eyes close as your body grows cold._

* * *

And then your body hits the floor. You sit up with a gasp, flailing around until you kick the blankets off of where they were tangled in your legs. You look around wildly, taking in your surroundings and expecting to find Ransom standing above you with another knife in his hand, ready to finish the job since the first time apparently wasn't enough. 

But you're just sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your blanket on the ground beneath you and your pillow off to the side. You must have rolled off the bed in your sleep, and that's how you ended up on the floor. The dull ache in your tailbone can attest to that as well. 

You stand to your feet and look at the time on your phone, sighing when it reads a little past two. You got about four hours of sleep. Better than it has been, but still not great. 

You drag your tired ass over to the windowsill, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and settling in to be awake until you can't keep your eyes open any longer. The conversation you had with Blanc earlier echoes through your mind about the sleeping pills. You know you told him you didn't want to use them and that you'd rather just brave whatever crisis you're going through right now, but you're exhausted and honestly are willing to sell your kidney at the moment if it means getting at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

Your door creaking open startles you and you turn your head to find Blanc peering through the crack inside. He pushes it open wider and steps inside when he sees you seated at the window before closing it behind him just as gently.

"Heard a sound," he explains. He's dressed in only a white tank and blue-striped pajama pants. You've never seen his arms so exposed, and the muscles there draw your attention almost instantly. In fact, you've never seen Blanc so dressed down at _all._ You were shocked when you saw him in jeans and a sweater, but you were not prepared for just-awake, pajama-wearing Benoit Blanc. Your body warms up at the sight in front of you and you turn to him, placing your bare feet on the cold wooden floor in an effort to distract you. 

It barely works. 

"Sorry," you almost groan, knowing that if he heard you fall then the others probably did as well, "I fell off my bed. No big deal."

He frowns, stepping closer as he folds his arms over his chest. His biceps flex at the movement and you cast your gaze to the floor, swallowing dryly. 

"Does that normally happen?"

"No," you laugh weakly, "another nightmare. Guess I rolled off the bed at the same time I was moving in my dream."

He sits down on the windowsill beside you. It's already tiny, so when he sits there's absolutely no free space and his leg is pressed directly alongside yours. "Are you okay?"

You nod, finally lifting your head to look him in the eye. Without his glasses on it's so much easier to see how bright his blue eyes are, even with nothing more than the moonlight to illuminate them. "My pride is hurt. That's about it."

He lets out a breath at that. "Have you tried a warm glass of milk or somethin' of the sort to help with your sleep?"

You shake your head. "Milk, counting sheep, listening to music...none of it can stop the dreams once they're inside my head."

One of his hands reaches out and twirls a strand of your hair as he frowns in thought. "Do you think sleepin' alone makes it worse?"

His question stills your breath for a moment. "I've honestly never thought about it."

He hums, still staring at his fingers. He drops your hair and moves his hand to cup your cheek, smoothing his thumb across your cheek. You let out a sigh and lean into the touch, feeling his finger try to smooth away the dark bags you're sure are beginning to form under your eyes. 

"You're more than welcome to share my bed with me, if you'd like." He offers, and you open your eyes to gaze at him in surprise. "Or we could go back to the couch in the living room if that would make you more comfortable. I just don't think that your sleepin' arrangements would be big enough for the both of us." He looks from your bed back over to you, a soft gaze in his eyes. "I wouldn't want to make you feel like you have to do somethin' you don't want to do, though."

You hesitate before speaking. "That's very kind of you, Ben, thank you. I wouldn't want my sleeping habits to wake you up as well, though. That would be worse than me missing a few hours of sleep."

He purses his lips as though he doesn't believe you, but doesn't argue it any further. "Well, the offer stands. Would you like for me to sit with you and stay up until you feel like tryin' to go back to sleep?"

You shake your head. You _really_ don't want him to miss out on sleep just because of you. Now that you're not getting the amount you should be getting you're starting to realize just how precious it is and you'd hate to be the reason that he's missing out on it. "You can go back to bed, I'm feeling tired already. I'll probably go back to sleep here soon, anyway."

A pause stretches between the two of you, and you get the feeling he can see right through your lie, but he doesn't push it. He leans forward, still gently holding your face in place, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

"Couldn't help that one," he murmurs, an almost shy smile on his face. "Goodnight, Y/N. Please, feel free to get me if you need me. I'd rather be awake and here for you than asleep and miss out on something."

You chuckle, touched that he cares so much. "I will. Goodnight."

He smiles at you over his shoulder and then exits the room, quietly clicking it back into place. Then you're alone once more. 

You really did it to yourself, picking to stay in a room that's so close to Blanc's in the first place. You're more surprised at the fact that Marta or Mrs. Cabrera didn't come in, wondering what was going on because you _know_ that they would've heard the sound as well. Mrs. Cabrera is a light sleeper, as is Marta. And you just found out that apparently Blanc is as well. 

Unless, of course, they knew Blanc was in here and didn't want to interrupt your conversation. Knowing what matchmakers they've been trying to be for the past month, you wouldn't put it past them to have done just that. 

Blanc did have a point, though, that maybe your problem is that you're sleeping alone. When you lived with one of your boyfriends in college you did find that you slept better, just because you knew you weren't alone. If Harlan's dogs were still here and not with Linda then you might have brought them into your room because you know having even them there would have made you feel more secure. 

And considering Ransom is the one that you've been dreaming about, maybe that's your problem. You're not the only one who's been on the receiving end of Ransom's knife in your dreams, whether it be Marta or her family, so you know it's not fear for security for just yourself. It's fear that you can't protect those you care the most about. Because if it was down to a fight between just you and Ransom, you would lose. You're not stupid--you've taken self-defense classes, sure, but Ransom has more muscle in his left arm than you have on your entire body. He would easily overpower you. 

You hate self-diagnosing yourself, mainly because your opinion will always be biased on such a topic. Try as you might to remain neutral, your own self is one topic that will always be tipped on one side. 

You glance over at the door that Blanc just walked out through. 

_"The offer stands."_

And is it ever a _tempting_ offer. You've already fallen asleep on Blanc twice. You know how nice it is. But your own pride and fear of becoming a burden to someone that you have feelings for makes your feet stick in their place almost as much as they did in your nightmare. 

Maybe you should get your own dog.

You gather your blanket and move back over to your bed, fixing everything until it's back to normal, and then climb under the covers. You drag them up to your nose and close your eyes, trying to fall back asleep. And you almost manage to. 

But then once you see a flash of silver behind your closed eyelids you know you can't do this. 

And though the guilty part of you wants to just torture yourself until you can't be awake anymore and pass out from exhaustion, you know that's not healthy. 

And he _did_ offer...

You debate for a whole ten seconds before throwing your blankets off to the side and standing, dressed in your t-shirt and sweatpants. You open your door quietly and look down the hall, for some reason expecting to find Marta or Mrs. Cabrera, but the house is silent. Everyone has either gone back to sleep or is still sleeping. 

You step into the hall and make your way to Blanc's door, hesitating only when you see it's closed. Surely he wouldn't take his offer back that quick? No, Blanc probably just prefers the privacy of having his door shut when he sleeps. But if he wants privacy then why would he ask you to sleep in his bed?

"Fuck it," you mutter, reaching out and turning the knob. The door is thankfully silent as it opens, and you slip in as quickly and quietly as possible. Blanc is staying in the room that Richard and Linda had stayed in. Marta exchanged the creaky mattresses in the house for new ones, including new bed stands, so now they don't rattle and groan in the dead of night. That was one purchase the two of you could easily agree with. 

It's darker in Blanc's room than yours since his window is on the opposite side while the moon is on your side, but you're still able to make out his form lying on the queen-sized bed. He's on his side, facing you, but his eyes are closed and it looks like he's sleeping. Is he sleeping? He would've said something to you when you came in if he was actually awake, right?

You take a deep breath before moving forward and pulling back the blankets on the other side of the bed before crawling under them. You turn onto your side as well, facing him just like he is you. The sheets smell like him and it instantly relaxes you, just as his even breathing does. Already in the short span of a few seconds, you feel more tired than you were when you were laying in your bed for a few minutes. 

You startle when you feel a hand encompass your own under the sheets, but you calm down when you realize it's just Blanc. He lays his arm on top of yours, holding your hand as he lets out a large sigh. 

"Goodnight, Y/N." He mumbles, not opening his eyes but tightening the hold he has on your hand. 

You breathe out, sinking into the comfortable mattress, knowing that you're no longer alone. Blanc is here beside you, and if anyone were to show up, he'd be by your side. 

You close your eyes, nuzzling into the pillow. "Goodnight, Ben."


	21. A Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Been sick these past couple weeks. Hoping that things get better. 
> 
> It's recently occurred to me that some of you may not follow me on Tumblr. I post more updates there on if I'll be posting or not for the week. I'll leave a link to it below, so feel free to stop in!
> 
> Thank you for being so patient and understanding!

[Tumblr Blog](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/meobsessions)

* * *

The next morning when you wake up, you find yourself once more cocooned in Blanc's embrace, your back to his front, and his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. It's just as intimate as when you woke up with him on the couch, only the bed is significantly more comfortable for the both of you than the couch. 

Last night you had no nightmares, no negative thoughts or images to plague your dreams. It's amazing to you to think of how simply sleeping in close proximity to another person can bring you such peace of mind, but then you remember a crucial part of the puzzle. Blanc isn't just any ordinary person to you--he never has been. 

You look over your shoulder at his face, your eyes tracing over the edges of his face, studying his lashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones and how his mouth is slightly parted as he sleeps, some of the lines of exhaustion on his face missing for the time being. You've heard before that people look younger in their sleep, but in Blanc's case, it's true. In this vulnerable state, he isn't held down by whatever troubles weigh on his shoulders in the daytime, and instead, he's able to fully relax while his mind is quiet.

He's still asleep by the time you manage to slip out of his hold and tiptoe over to your room. You can still feel sleep tempting the edges of your mind, coaxing you to go back into his room and fall back asleep, but you don't want to overstay your welcome with him. That, and you also don't want Marta or her sister to come looking for you and instead find you in his bed. You'd never recover from the embarrassment. 

It's just past eight when you get downstairs and start making breakfast. You turn on some soft music and start puttering around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make a quiche. By the time you've popped it in the oven, it's almost nine and nobody else has gotten up yet. Or, at least you haven't _heard_ anyone else moving around yet. You take your phone and start browsing through your emails, deciding to get some little things from work done so you won't have to worry about them when you go back on Monday. A few clients asked to move appointments, one of them being from Jamie. He says he's going to visit his family for a few days in Delaware so he won't be back by the time of our next meeting. You can't help but smile to yourself, happy to know that Jamie seems to be improving and loosening up a little more from his shell. 

"Something smells good," Marta yawns as she walks into the kitchen, slipping into one of the chairs and wiping the sleep from her eyes. "What'd you make?"

"Spinach and cheese quiche," you tell her, pouring out a glass of orange juice and sliding it her way. She picks it up with thanks and takes a long sip. "I've been hungry for it."

"Mom makes a really good quiche. She adds these spices and a mixture of vegetables that our neighbors used to have her make for them at least once a month."

You smile. "I'd love to try it sometime. Your mom's a really good cook."

"She'd be glad to hear that." Marta places her cup back down on the counter. "Want to go into town with me today? I need to get some new clothes, something dressy."

"Dressy?"

"If I'm going to be looking for a new job then I'll probably have to go to some interviews. I need to find something I can wear to that."

You nod your head. "Yeah, of course. Do you mind if we make a few stops at some other places? I feel like getting an idea of possible furniture and other furnishings I can get for my house--once I find one of course." You roll your eyes. 

Marta perks up. "That sounds like fun."

"What sounds like fun?" Alice walks into the kitchen and slides into the chair beside her sister.

"Want to go with Y/N and I to the store? We're going to help find stuff for her house."

Alice screws up her face. "You already found a house?"

"Not yet," you sigh, "but it might help if I find some stuff that I want and then I can pick a house based on that."

"Isn't it supposed to work the other way around? You know, find a house you like and then buy furniture based on that?"

You shrug. "It'll just be browsing today anyways. I think the truth is that I just need to do something normal. Besides going to work, of course. Take my mind off everything."

Alice instantly becomes more sympathetic. She nods her head. "Yeah, I'll come along. Someone has to make sure you don't pick out something tacky."

"Hey!" You defend. "My taste is _not_ tacky."

Alice rolls her eyes. "Y/N, the curtains in your apartment clashed with the carpet."

"I couldn't help that!"

"You couldn't help the carpet. You picked those curtains, though. That was entirely your fault."

You purse your lips, and as much as you might want to argue with her, she's right. You were never meant to be an interior decorator. "Okay, fine. I'll accept defeat on that one."

She gives a smug smile as she steals Marta's orange juice and takes a sip of it. The three of you continue to make conversation, planning your events for the day while you wait for the quiche to finish baking. When it's done you set it out and get plates before you start digging in. Mrs. Cabrera comes downstairs and is pleasantly surprised that you made breakfast. You bring up her quiche recipe and that launches the two of you into a conversation about where she learned to cook and who she got her recipes from. 

Blanc walks into the kitchen while the four of you are in the middle of laughing at Mrs. Cabrera's retelling of how she burned the Christmas ham when she was pregnant with Alice. When you look over at him you find him grinning, the happiness in the room contagious. 

"Sounds like I missed a good story," he says as he pulls out the chair beside you, "you'll have to tell it again."

"Maybe another time," Mrs. Cabrera waves her hand, still trying to catch her breath after laughing so much, "let me enjoy my breakfast first."

"You made a quiche?" He asks Marta as he helps himself to the dish. Marta shakes her head at him and points at you with her fork. 

"Y/N did."

Blanc pauses as he glances over at you. "You did?" You nod. "I didn't know you liked to cook."

You shrug. "I have to be inspired to do it. I can make some really good food on some days, and then there are others where I'll burn a grilled cheese."

The two of you share a private smile at that. Your mind jumps back to that time those weeks ago when he made you one of the best grilled cheeses you've ever had at his apartment. He winks and then digs into his own food. He makes a pleasing sound as the food touches his tongue, and then he takes another bite. "This is delicious, Y/N."

You blush. "Thank you."

Marta looks between the two of you for a brief second before standing from the table. "Should we go get ready for the day? I'd like to leave soon."

You nod, standing as well and taking your empty plate over to the sink. "That sounds good. We should get lunch somewhere too."

"What's going on?" Blanc asks with confusion. He places his fork on the table, his quiche momentarily forgotten. 

"We're going to do some shopping. See if we can find some furniture that Y/N would like in her house and then I need to get some other stuff as well."

Blanc purses his lips with a frown and then pulls his phone out of his pants pocket. "Well, I was to meet with the Lieutenant today but I can call and reschedule--"

"What?" You interrupt, moving forward and placing a hand on his own to stop him from dialing Louie. "Blanc, you don't need to cancel your plans just because of me. I wasn't expecting you to come along today anyway."

He locks his phone but doesn't remove his hand from your own. "Why not?"

You give a half-laugh. "Unless you're secretly a lover of IKEA and clothes-shopping, I didn't think it would be something you'd enjoy."

Blanc stands to his feet and peers down at you, thoroughly confused. You notice that the others subtly exit the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone for this conversation. "Y/N, I'd rather tag along and be bored than not be there and somethin' happen to you." 

"Ben," you say calmly, "I appreciate that, I do, but I can't expect you to be there every day of every hour, can I? That wouldn't be fair to you."

"I'm already taking you to work--"

"And work is different," you interject, "because it's public knowledge that I work there. I feel safer when you drive me there, but I'm not going to be alone today. Marta and Alice are going to be with me, and this is a random trip. Nobody but we know about it." You take a step closer, holding both of his hands in your own and squeezing them comfortingly. "We'll be fine, I'm sure of it. And on the _rare_ chance that something does happen, then you'll be the first I call."

You can tell he still isn't that convinced and wants to argue with you, so to solidify your argument you lean forward on your tiptoes and press a small kiss to his cheek. When you pull back his gaze has softened and some of his resolve has diminished. "I'll also feel guilty if you cancel your plans because of me."

He studies you for a few seconds, thinking over your argument. Finally, he sighs and tugs on your hands until he can wrap his arms around you in a hug. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, your ear pressed on his chest over his heart.

"If you think something is wrong, _at all_ _,_ you call me right away. Okay?"

You do your best to hold in your sigh. He's just being like this because he's concerned. You simply nod and squeeze him a little tighter before stepping out of his embrace and going to clean up the kitchen. He sits back into his chair and once more starts eating his food once more. A comfortable silence stretches out between the two of you while you work and he finishes his breakfast. 

"What are you going to see Louie about anyway?" You ask, drying your hands on the towel by the dishwasher. He takes a sip of water before answering, his plate now empty. You walk over and take it before setting it in the sink for later.

"Just wants to meet up, go over a few things." His tone is nonchalant and his demeanor is calm, but something is off. There's an almost imperceptible tension behind his eyes and judging by the way his finger keeps tapping the counter, you can tell there's more to what he's saying. 

"Is everything...okay?" You ask cautiously, trying your best not to appear pushy about it. 

He nods. "Of course." He stands and walks around to your side, pausing to lean down and press a kiss to the top of your head before walking towards the stairs. "I'll see you ladies, before you head out, all right?"

You nod and then he's out of the room. That was odd. Blanc usually isn't so evasive like that towards you, at least he hasn't been in a while anyways. Not since the case was officially solved and he had no reason to be like that. Maybe he's working on another case with Louie and he isn't allowed to tell you the details?

Except Blanc told you that he wasn't working on another case right now, since being your 'bodyguard' was technically his job. You push your insecurities to the side and decide to ignore them for the time being. If it was truly something for you to worry about, Blanc _would_ tell you.

* * *

"What do you think of these ones?"

"Absolutely not--she'd never get those color rugs if her house was going to have maroon carpeting. God, and here I thought that _I_ was the one who doesn't pay attention when mom has Home Improvement on." Alice scoffs and takes the rugs out of Marta's hands. 

"Maybe Y/N likes them? Do you, Y/N?"

You blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts and back to the present. You've been unable to stop thinking of the last conversation you had with Blanc in the kitchen, and how weird it was. How you could tell that he was holding back. And then later when the three of you were leaving for the store and Blanc was going his own way, his goodbye was almost...distant. 

"Y/N?" Marta asks again, a look of concern on her face. She walks over to your side while Alice continues down an aisle of different patterns of drapes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, shoving your personal troubles to the back of your mind, "I'm fine. Sorry, just a little in my head."

Marta watches you for a brief moment. "Did something happen with Blanc?"

"What? No!" You shake your head. "No, everything's fine." They still don't know that you spent the night in his room. Things are going a lot better than they probably think. "Just...with everything that's been happening lately, it's been easier for me to get lost in my own thoughts."

Marta nods sympathetically, and you feel a flash of guilt. While what you said isn't necessarily a lie, you still avoided the truth. 

"We can go back now if you want?" It's been three hours and you've already gotten all the clothes you could possibly want for the next few months and you've managed to find a few things you might be interested in putting in your house once you find one. Alice was a lot more help with things like that than you were originally anticipating. And, to be honest, your feet are killing you. 

"Actually, if you guys are good then I'm good. My feet are killing me." You laugh along with Marta. She calls Alice back over to you. 

"We're heading out. Do you need to stop anywhere for anything before we go home?"

Alice shakes her head. She also got a lot of new things so she's probably more excited to go home and check those out. "I'm ready."

The three of you make your way outside the store and around the street corner towards Marta's car. You offered to let Blanc take yours to meet Louie since he still doesn't have his car with him. It's just been easier for him to use yours anyway. The furniture store you were checking out is part of downtown and since it's a weekend the parking spaces everywhere are filled. You parked a few blocks away because this also gave you guys an excuse to stop in at a few shops here and there, although after you got the clothes you made a trip back to the car to drop the bags off. 

"Have you thought of getting a new car yet?" You ask Marta, smiling briefly at a woman walking her dog past you on the sidewalk. 

Marta shrugs. "It's not that important to me. I know I need one, but...I don't know. I've had Blue for so long she's like a part of the family."

You nod sympathetically while Alice merely scoffs. "If you would buy a new car then I bet it wouldn't break down as much as Blue does."

"She has a point," you agree with Alice. Marta shakes her head with a sad smile. 

"I'll judge your car when you get one, Alice. Just wait."

"She'd have to get her license first for that to happen," you nudge Marta with your elbow and she starts laughing. Alice scowls in your direction. 

"There are plenty of 17 year-olds who don't have their license!"

You can't hold back your own amusement at that, and you and Marta break into laughter as Alice stomps ahead. She rounds the corner while her fingers start to fly over her phone. 

"Poor Alice," you giggle, feeling lighter after the brief break in your otherwise somber mood. "She's right--most people are anxious about something like that. I don't blame her nor judge her. I didn't mine until I was almost out of high school."

Marta shakes her head at you, still smiling widely. "Stop getting all 'psychologist' on me. It's my sister. She's just being a baby." 

That makes the two of you start laughing again, but it's cut off when you hear Alice screaming your names. You and Marta share a brief look at one another before taking off in a run in her direction. You round the corner and stumble over your steps when you see Alice standing on the sidewalk, her hands covering her mouth in horror as she looks at Marta's car. 

Or what's _left_ of Marta's car. 

Blue is no longer blue, but instead, a splattered blue and yellow mix that clash together horribly. Someone apparently decided to take a couple of gallons of bright yellow paint and throw it haphazardly over the exterior of the car. The front windshield is cracked, while the passenger ones are completely shattered. It looks like someone took a sledgehammer or something of the sort and just took their frustrations out on the poor vehicle, judging by the oddly placed dents that litter it. The tires are all flat, and the license plate on the back has been ripped off and tossed to the other side of the road. When you take a step closer and look inside you're confused to find that all your belongings from your earlier shopping are still in the trunk. 

"Oh my god," you gasp, stepping forward slowly. Marta runs to Alice and pulls her away from the carnage and into her side. 

"Holy shit," Marta gasps, doing her best to comfort her sister while also trying not to freak out herself. 

"We need to call the police," your tongue feels thick in your mouth and you feel like you're outside of your body, but you manage to ground yourself for the sake of your friends. "Marta, can you call the police?"

Marta nods and fishes her phone out of her pocket before dialing and pressing it to her ear. You take a deep breath and pull out your own phone, prepared to make your own call. 

You did promise that you'd call him first if anything were to happen. 

_"Everythin' all right?"_ He asks as soon as he answers the phone.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for his reaction. In a way you wanted to prove him wrong--that you and Marta and Alice would be just fine out on your own and that you weren't in any danger at all today--but as fate would have it he was right. Would this have still happened had he been here? Impossible to tell; but something happened while he wasn't here and he's not exactly going to be happy about that, you already know.

"There's been an accident," you start and then pause when you hear his sharp intake of breath. There's a sudden commotion on the other side of the phone and he's talking to someone, but his words are muffled like he's covering the receiver with his hand. 

_"Are you hurt?"_

"I'm fine, we're all fine, it's just--"

_"Where are you?"_ Straight to the point. His words dip low in his accent, and you can hear a hint of frustration in his voice. 

You glance over to the corner and tell him where you're parked near. "Listen, Blanc, nobody is hurt. Marta's car, on the other hand, is not so safe."

You hear two slams on the other side and then something that sounds a lot like a siren. Blanc must be with the Lieutenant and the two of them must be on their way in the squad car. 

_"Is there anyone around? Someone who might have done somethin' to Marta's car?"_

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You hadn't even thought to look to see if the person who did this was still around. Marta's car is parked on a road that leads into a development, with only a few other cars also parked farther down the street. There's nothing and nobody around that you can see, especially since the closest house is at least a quarter of a mile down the road. 

_"Y/N?"_

"Sorry," you say, moving to Marta's side and grabbing her elbow before leading them away from the scene just in case somebody does decide to show up, "no, I don't see anyone. I'm taking Marta and Alice back to a restaurant a block over until someone shows up, just in case someone is waiting around here."

Marta's eyes widen and you know she just had the same thought that somebody might have been waiting for you to come back. 

_"The Lieutenant and I will be there in ten minutes. We'll pick you up at the restaurant first, okay?"_

You nod before remembering that he can't see you. "Yeah, of course." You tell him the name of the restaurant that you're going to. You lower your voice the next time you speak, trying to sound calm even though your heart is beating so loud in your ears it's blocking almost everything else out. "Hey, I'm sorry. I was wrong, you were right."

He lets out a large breath. _"Don't--this wasn't your fault. You ain't got nothin' to apologize for. I'll talk to you when we get there."_

"Okay," you say softly. He hangs up the phone and you make your way inside the small diner with Marta and Alice. Blanc told you not to apologize, and you know that he was just trying to be nice and probably make you feel better, but you know better. You could hear the frustration in his voice, the subtle anger simmering beneath the surface. Blanc is upset with you. 

A young boy walks over to the three of you, a white apron tied around his waist and his smile tired. The diner doesn't look that busy for a Saturday, but then again it's after the lunch rush. He looks at you expectantly, most likely since you're in the front. "Can I help you, ladies?"

"We're waiting for some people to come pick us up. I'll order a coffee if we can sit here for a few minutes."

He nods, his tired smile morphing into a look of concern. "Yeah, absolutely. Any cream or sugars?"

"Two creams and one sugar, please." You sigh, and then he leads your small group to a booth in the back near a window. Perfect. You can see the road from here so it'll be super easy to see when Blanc arrives. 

He comes back with your coffee a minute after you're seated and you slide it wordlessly in Alice's direction. She looks at you quizzically. 

"I hate coffee," you say as an explanation. You weren't expecting such a small place as this to have the tea you actually like to drink anyway. She nods and takes the warm drink with a small thanks.

"Y/N," Marta's voice is shaky when she speaks, and when you look at her face it's easy to see she's rattled. "Who would've done such a thing? And why?" 

You shake your head. "I don't know, Marta. We need to wait for the others to get here. They might be able to tell more about the situation than we can."

"Situation?" She cries out. "Y/N, that was an attack. And not just any kind of attack, it was on _my car._ What if we had been there when that person was doing that?"

"We weren't," you say reassuringly, reaching across the table to take her hand comfortingly in your own, "and I bet that if whoever had done that had seen us there then they wouldn't have thought twice of doing such a thing."

Marta mulls over your words. "Do you think that it was on purpose? Do you think that they knew whose car that was?"

You keep your face calm even as your thoughts start to run at a mile a minute. "I don't know."

Marta squeezes your hand, _hard._ "Be honest, Y/N. Do you think they knew?"

Another pause. A sigh. 

"Yes."

Her eyes widen with fear. "Do you think it's tied to your apartment?"

"Now _that_ I'm really not sure about," you say honestly, "but I also wouldn't be surprised if it were."j

She takes her hand from your own as she slumps back in the booth. Alice numbly sips from her steaming coffee. 

You hadn't really thought about if the destruction of Marta's car was linked with your apartment, but now that you've thought about it...the likelihood that it's a coincidence is too unlikely. Marta's car wasn't parked in a bad neighborhood and there were plenty of other vehicles in the vicinity for people to vandalize if they wanted to--not to mention that all your newly purchased clothing wasn't stolen--so it just doesn't make any sense. 

"They're here," Alice says as she sits up, looking out the window. Sure enough, you see an SUV pull into a parking space, lights still flashing as two familiar figures jump out from the front of the vehicle and move quickly to the front of the restaurant. 

The young boy from before moves to the door quickly, also noticing that the police are now here, and waits for them as they enter. Louie shares a few words with him while Blanc steps around him, looking all over the diner. When he locks eyes with you he moves forward with determination, leaving Louie behind. You watch as he stomps over to your booth, a look of determination on his face. 

He stops at the end, his hands planted firmly on his hips and a stern look on his face as he looks from Alice to Marta and then finally settles on you.

"Why do I feel like I'm in the principal's office?"

"Because we are," Marta mumbles, and that manages to alleviate some of the tension that had been forming in your small group. Blanc sighs and rubs the back of his neck. 

"How're you feelin'?" 

"Shaken," Marta says honestly, not that she could really say otherwise, "I'm freaked out, Blanc. Why would someone do that to my car?"

"We haven't seen it yet," he admits, "wanted to get here first and check on y'all."

"We're fine," you say, sliding out of the booth and standing up. He moves closer to your side once you're on your feet. "Let's get this over with. I don't really want to linger if we don't need to."

You take a twenty out of your bag and put it on the table to pay for the coffee. Hopefully, the kid will enjoy the extra tip. 

"C'mon," Blanc says gently as he ushers you out of the diner with his hand on your back. You, Marta, and Alice get into the back of the car while Blanc and Louie get in the front, and then Marta directs him to where she parked her car. When he parks across the street from it he lets out a litany of curses. He glances in the rearview briefly at Alice before giving a small apology. 

"I called the police at the same time Y/N called you," Marta explains, "but they said it would take 20 minutes to get here." 

Blanc steps out of the car and walks over to Marta's car, walking around it silently as he takes in each and every mark on it. His serious 'detective' face is on, the same one he wore when he was investigating the hidden window back at the house. When he makes a full round he looks up and he and Louie share a knowing look, as though there's more going on here than the rest of you know. 

"What?" You blatantly ask. You're getting a little tired of the shared looks and unanswered questions. "What's going on here?"

"We're not sure," Louie says, scrubbing a hand over his face in a sign of exhaustion. It just makes you more curious as to what he and Blanc were planning on discussing earlier today. "We're going to get forensics here and see if they can get a print off something."

"Forensics?" Marta asks, blinking at him. "So you don't think this was just some random attack?"

Louie frowns at her. "In any other circumstance I would say it was, but your story isn't something common. We need to take this seriously."

"I'm going to be sick," you mumble, leaning your head against the cool metal of Louie's car. Marta moves to your side and places a calming hand on your back. 

"Are you good to wait here for the police?" Blanc asks Louie. He nods at him. "Mind if I steal your car again? I'm going to take them back to the house."

Louie waves him off and Blanc jogs back over to your side. He looks you over briefly before taking your arm and steering you to the passenger side before opening the door and helping you into the front seat. He shuts the door behind you and then the rest of them get in after, Blanc once more behind the wheel. He starts the car and pulls out of there, Marta's damaged car nothing but a distant image in the side mirror. 

Blanc reaches over and puts his hand on your own that's resting on your lap, and instantly you find yourself feeling a little better. But that small blanket of security isn't big enough to cover the fear that's spreading through your heart. 


	22. A Bit of Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! A lot happened in this chapter and it took a while to figure out how to get to where I wanted to be. 
> 
> I applied for a new job and was hired, so unfortunately this means I will have less time to write than usual. The good news (or maybe bad?) is that I think this story will be able to be finished in a few chapters! We'll see how events pan out!
> 
> Thank you for all the reviews/kudos!!!

The police come back to the house a couple of hours after they're done with Marta's car and have gathered any and all possible evidence. There were no fingerprints to be found and none of the people who lived in nearby houses saw it happening or even heard when the glass was smashed. Blanc found it suspicious that there wasn't a single witness, but there was nothing to be done about it. 

Mrs. Cabrera brings you another cup of warm tea in the living room, handing it to you with a sympathetic look on her face. She hands one to Marta as well, who is currently sitting at your side on the couch. Blanc is in the dining room with Louie and a few other police officers, discussing what happened and what they're going to do about it. Alice is in her room, on the phone with her friends and telling them what happened. 

Louie walks into the living room, Blanc and Trooper Moore close behind him. Louie walks over and sits on the footstool in front of you, clasping his hands together and letting out a sigh. 

"Ladies," he starts, looking between the two of you. You can tell he must be tired. "How are you feeling?"

"What's going on, Lieutenant?" Marta cuts to the chase, her voice wobbling just the slightest. "Why would someone do something like that?"

He shakes his head. "I wish I could tell you. This doesn't make any sense. The fact that there aren't any witnesses or anyone who even _heard_ anything doesn't make me feel much better."

"Way to be gentle about it, Lieutenant," Trooper Moore scoffs. "We're looking into it, but in the meantime, I think it would be best if you guys just stayed home for a while."

You shake your head. "I can't do that--I have a job."

He raises a brow at you. "You can't take any time off?"

"I don't _want_ to take any time off," you say, trying to keep your anger in control. "I want my life to go back to normal. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder every time I go out. I understand that it's unsafe and that I can't be alone, but Detective Blanc and I already have a good schedule worked out so that I can still go to work and maintain at least a _shred_ of my normalcy."

"I understand that, but--"

"No buts," you interrupt, "I trust you guys to protect us. Who would be brave enough to try anything at a public place like that?"

"Who would demolish a car like Marta's in broad daylight?" Louie argues. You go silent, seeing the logic in his statement. You don't _want_ to be difficult, but they don't understand how this whole situation is affecting your lives. How _scared_ you really are. 

A silence stretches on until Louie breaks it with a sigh. "Listen, we'll give it a few days of you stayin' inside, see if anything happens. If it doesn't, then you can go back to your normal schedule."

You take a sip of tea, ignoring how hot it is. "Sure." You stand from your seat and set the cup down on the end table, the eyes of everyone in the room on you. "I...I'm tired. I'm going to turn in early. Excuse me."

They say their goodbyes to you as you walk up the stairs and into your room. You shut the door behind you and then walk over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it. The events of the day run through your head--the horror at finding Marta's car, the fear that someone might have been watching you, _waiting_ for you to let your guards down--

You change into your pajamas and crawl under the covers. This day turned out a lot worse than you thought it would have. 

* * *

At a little past midnight, you once more find yourself creeping across the hall to Blanc's room. You don't knock before you enter, expecting him to be asleep already. You're surprised when he sits up as you shut the door behind you and pad over to the empty side of the bed. You silently pull back the blankets and slip beneath the sheets, sighing as you tug them up to your nose. 

"I was beginning to wonder when you'd come over."

You peek an eye open at him. "I've only done this one other time."

He shrugs, adjusting back into the position he was in before you came into the room. "Today was a bad day. Wasn't sure if you needed my help or not."

"You were waiting for me to come over?" He nods. You scoff at him. "I must seem pretty pathetic."

It's dark in the room but you're close enough to him that you can make out the frown on his face. "Now, what would make you say such a thing like that?" One of his hands reaches out and brushes the hair from your face, gently tucking it behind your ear. "Sweetheart, I wanted you to come see me. I could tell earlier that you were...upset, but I didn't know if I should have followed you or let you be." He gives a weak chuckle. "I'm not professionally trained to handle situations like these, as compared to _some_ people I know."

That makes you feel a little better, knowing that he wanted you to see him (and the fact that he called you 'sweetheart'). "You may not have the same training as you, Benoit, but it goes the same way for me. You can do things that I can't, that I wouldn't even _begin_ to know how to handle." 

He smiles softly at you. "Then I guess together we make a pretty good pair." 

You knew it was a good idea to come over here. Leave it to Blanc to make you feel better. 

"C'mere," he murmurs, shifting forward while lifting his arm. You scoot forward until you're pressed up against his chest and his arms are wrapped firmly around you. You tuck your head into his neck and let out a large breath, trying to push away the worries of the day so that you can catch some decent sleep. 

But one question keeps plaguing your thoughts--something you were too afraid to ask earlier, but now that it's just you and Blanc, you need to know. 

"Ben," you whisper, afraid to break the tranquility that has started to settle over the two of you, "do you...do you think what happened today is tied to Harlan's case?"

He's silent for a few moments. "I'll be honest with ya, I'm not sure. I want to say it isn't, but my gut is tellin' me there's something more at play here."

You turn your face into his shoulder. "I was afraid you'd say something like that."

* * *

There's radio silence for the next three days. You all wait out the weekend in the house and then Monday morning you call into work and tell them you'll be out for a few days. You can tell Theresa is confused but she doesn't argue. You never take off from work so you know she's probably curious as to why you would do that now. You email your clients that were scheduled to come in for the week and tell them that for the time being you'll have to cancel until further notice. They sound understanding over the phone and email, but you can tell some of them are annoyed by it. They have no idea how you feel about the matter. 

In the meantime, Marta buys a new (and much needed) car. It's brand new and pretty maroon color, and it also is big enough to fit all of you and then some. You can tell Marta loves it and as soon as it was delivered she wanted to take it out for a drive, but she said she would wait until it was safer to go outside. 

Finally, on Wednesday, Louie calls you and tells you that since there hasn't been any sign of suspicious activity for a few days that it's probably safe for you to return to work. You can hear how unhappy he is to tell you this, and this is confirmed when he tells you that he recommends staying home for a while longer. You thank him for his advice, knowing that as soon as you get off the phone you're going to tell your clients that you'll be in tomorrow.

"You sure you're okay?" Blanc asks as he drops you off outside the office the next day, an uncertain look on his face. 

More nights than not recently you've been sleeping in the same bed with him. Sometimes you fall asleep wrapped in his arms or simply holding his hand, but either way, when you wake up you find that you've managed to maintain some form of contact with him, unconscious as it may be. 

You nod your head. "I'll call you first if anything happens."

He pulls a face. "I'd rather nothin' happen at all."

You soften, leaning in through his side of the window and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you after work."

He sighs, staring at you for a few seconds with an unrecognizable look on his face before nodding his head. "I'll be here."

You pat the door before turning and walking up the steps into the building. You turn once you're inside and watch him pull away, leaving you to your job. You walk inside and immediately Theresa greets you with a smile.

"Good to see you back, Dr. L/N."

You give her a genuine one back. "Nice to see you as well. Any messages for me?"

She rummages around through her desk and then pulls out a stack of papers. You're surprised that there's so much, considering you were only gone for three days. 

She takes one look at the surprise on your face and starts laughing. "Don't worry, some of it is just some billing errors and then some are referrals from other practices."

You thank her and then go to your office, putting them down on your desk and sinking into your chair before starting to go through the stack. Theresa was right--they're mainly bills, some of your clients having questions for their insurance and such. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Until you near the bottom of the pile, that is. 

You frown as you pull out a letter addressed to you. You rarely get mail at work, if ever, so this is unexpected. There's no return address and for a moment you start to feel a similar sense of dread flush through your system and making your palms sweat. But once you open the envelope and pull out the card, you feel a rush of relief. 

_Dear Dr. L/N,_

_I'm sorry I can't do this in person, but I don't have a lot of time and when I stopped in on Monday the receptionist said that you were going to be gone for a while. I would have sent an email but that just feels impersonal._

_I'm moving out of state next week because I've been accepted to work for another company, and I finally feel well enough to be able to try things out on my own. That wouldn't have even been possible without all your help throughout these past years. I owe you my life._

_Thank you for everything. I'll never forget it._

_~Jamie_

The letter makes you feel bittersweet. You're happy that you've had such an impact on Jamie's life and were able to help him so much, but you're also sad because he was one of your favorite clients. He still has your work number, so hopefully, if he ever feels like he needs your assistance again he won't be afraid to call. 

* * *

The rest of the day passes quickly, and that's all thanks to the obscene amount of work that had been waiting for you. When the day is over and you slide into the car with Blanc, you're pretty sure you could fall asleep right there. 

"Long day?" He asks, amused. 

You smile at him. "Busy day, yeah. One of my clients ended his treatments with me apparently."

He raises a brow. "Really? Any particular reason?"

You shrug. "He got another job in another state. He wrote me a sweet letter. I'll miss him."

Blanc hums and pulls out onto the road. It starts to rain on the way and the sound of the raindrops hitting the windshield is soothing in ways that you can't describe. Blanc turns on the radio to some old country station and hums along with it idly. You turn your head and watch him, taking in the way he drives with one hand on the steering wheel and his posture relaxed while he watches the road and sings along with an old George Jones song. You can't wait until this entire mess is over and dealt with and you can let yourself enjoy moments like these, the little ones that count more than any person would probably think they do.

Halfway through he glances at you and notices you watching him. He stops singing and grins, reaching over to turn the volume down. 

"What?" He's still smiling, glancing at you every few seconds. 

You shake your head. "Nothing. Just watching."

He laughs. "Not much to watch."

"Remember, I observe before I announce my thoughts."

Blanc looks at you teasingly. "And what have you observed?"

"How happy you make me," you say quietly. He seems to soften at your words, reaching over to grab your hand and lift it so he can press a kiss to your knuckles. 

"I could say the same about you, Dr. L/N."

* * *

The next few days manage to lull you and everyone around you into a sense of security. Additional surveillance cameras were set up around the house, both inside and out, and Louie would call to check in every other day, both asking how you all were faring and giving whatever updates he had available. There weren't many but they were keeping a close eye on Ransom and the rest of the Thrombey family. You consider the fact that they haven't further contacted you or Marta a blessing because it means they aren't bothering you, but also a curse because you have no idea if they're plotting something. 

For everyone's sake, you hope they're not. 

You also manage to look at a house that's for sale just a few miles down the road. Since Harlan's--no, Marta's--house is in a wealthier part of the state, it's only natural that the house you're looking at is pretty grand itself. It's not as big as Marta's, with only three bedrooms and two floors, but there are plenty of other rooms that make it large enough for your tastes. It costs almost one million dollars and when the real estate agent tells you this you nearly choke, but Marta is there to remind you that you have the money to pay for such a thing now. It becomes quite clear to you that the real estate agent is more than aware of the newfound wealth that you and Marta have come into and she is willing to suck up as much as possible to make a sale; nevertheless, her knowledge _is_ helpful and she answers any question you throw her way. 

"This is a gorgeous house, Y/N," Marta says as she walks into the kitchen. It's open with an island in the center, still leaving enough room on either side of it for people to walk past one another at the counters. You've always wanted a big kitchen. 

"It really is," you agree. It has 19 acres of land with a large front and backyard before the trees enclose it and one becomes surrounded by the woods. It takes less than ten minutes to drive to Marta's from there, and you do like the idea of how close by her and her family are. "I want to look at a few other places, but I think this one might be one of my favorites."

"That's wonderful to hear," Jade, the real estate agent, claps her hands together and gives you a wide smile. "There are going to be a few more showings on it in the next few days. Just let me know if you would like to place a bid on it."

"Other people are interested in this house?" Marta asks, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room where the rest of you are gathered. There's a large flat screen tv in the entertainment system and an L-shaped couch pressed against the wall. The maroon carpeting is plush beneath your feet, and you feel a little guilty for wearing your shoes on it. There's so much more in this house than just what you've seen, but any person could take one look at it and see that it's lavish. 

Jade nods her head. "Oh, yes. It's new on the market, and houses that are just added are usually quite popular for a few weeks after being listed."

"You better make up your mind soon, Y/N." Marta pats your shoulder before walking out of the house. You follow her silently, the new information buzzing inside your thoughts. 

You really _do_ like this house. You've always lived in tiny apartments and never really gave too much thought to where you would want to settle down permanently, but now that you have the option to splurge on something like this, you find you _want_ to. You think of how lucky you are to have been given this opportunity to even buy something like this in the first place, and the memory of Harlan dampens some of your joy. 

"What'd you think?" Blanc asks, leaning on the door of the car outside. The driveway leading from the road up to the house is similar to Marta's, though it's a little shorter and has less coverage from the trees. His arms are folded over his chest, his large brown overcoat flowing in the cool breeze. He smiles as you walk up to lean on the car at his side. 

"It's gorgeous, I'll be honest."

He nods. "I will agree that it is a sight to behold."

"Why didn't you come inside?"

He glances down at you. "I thought I would be of more assistance out here than in there."

You study him for a moment, pursing your lips. You slowly start to smile as an idea pops into your head. "Let me guess: you like house shopping just as much as clothes shopping?"

He smiles back, chuckling at you. "I've never much cared for material possessions, at least ones as large as this. You've been to my home, you've seen what I have."

You nod. "That's true, but even you have your little touches here and there."

He reaches one hand up and gently grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up slightly. He leans down until his lips are just a breath away from yours, his blue eyes locked with your own. 

"That is true," he murmurs and then brushes your lips with just the barest of kisses. You close your eyes and melt into the caress, reaching out to grab the lapel of his coat as he wraps one arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

A clearing of a throat has the two of you pulling away, your face heating as you see Marta looking between the two of you with a cheeky smile on her face. 

"Did the two of you get dinner and not tell me about it?"

You take a step from Blanc, doing your best to rein in your embarrassment at being caught. You've been so happy with Blanc this past couple of days that you completely forgot that the others aren't exactly aware of how the two of you's relationship has...evolved.

"No, not exactly." You're the one to answer her because Blanc is too busy cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief. He gives you a sly look from the corner of his eye, letting you know that he's well aware that he's being a little shit at the moment. 

Marta nods her head, humming to herself. She raises a brow at you, silently saying 'we're so talking about this later'. Jade walks over to your group and hands you a stack of papers that have been neatly stapled together, dissolving the tense moment that had been brewing for a moment there. 

"This is just some more information on the house, along with my contact info. I've also included some information on other houses for sale in the area, though I believe they're a little less extravagent as this one." You can already tell that Jade is talking about the price of the houses that are listed in the stack in your hands. "Please feel free to reach out at any time."

You thank her and then you, Blanc, and Marta climb into your car before heading back to her home. You can feel her eyes on you the entire way but you're the one driving for once so you don't even think of glancing back at her. You already know that the conversation you're going to inevitably have is going to be the opposite definition of 'fun'. 

* * *

You don't bother heading to Blanc's room that night, already knowing that Marta was going to come looking for you. Better for her to find you in your room than his bed. 

Marta doesn't even bother knocking on the door when she walks in. She shuts it behind her and sits down on the end of your bed, crossing her legs and staring at you expectantly. You tkae a deep breath, unsure of where to even start. 

"We haven't gotten dinner yet if that's what you're wondering."

She throws her hands up and lets out a groan. "You've said that already. I was just wondering at what point you decided to skip dinner and go straight to _kissing?"_

You shrug, staring down at your sheets for a moment as you collect your thoughts. "He was...comforting me. Shortly after my apartment had been broken into. Some truths came out and it just sort of...happened?"

She shakes her head. "That is the lamest description of a first kiss I have ever heard. And I've had to hear Alice talk about her boyfriends."

You can't help but laugh with her. "I know I make it sound boring, but it wasn't. It was sweet." You let out a large sigh, flopping back on your bed and resting your head on your pillow as you stare at the ceiling. "I think I'm really falling for him, Marta. It kind of scares me."

Marta is silent as she maneuvers herself so that she's lying on her side beside you, her head propped up on her hand as she studies your face. "There are definitely worse men out there than Detective Blanc."

"I know," you whisper, unable to stop yourself from immediately thinking of Ransom, "and what kills me is the fear that I might mess things up. I don't want to lose him."

"You won't," Marta quietly reassures you, hugging you tightly, "you're a smart and beautiful woman, Y/N. He should be the one afraid of losing you."

Even as comforting as her words are, it still doesn't eliminate the darker thoughts that brew inside your mind. 

* * *

You should have known something was off as soon as you woke up the next morning. Your mind was buzzing from the moment you woke up in your own bed, one of the rare nights that you didn't sleep with Blanc, and it was as though you could sense something was brewing in the air. Blanc made no mention of anything being wrong, but you could tell by the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and how he checked his rearview mirror more often that he was also on edge. But what could possibly be making you feel this way?

Work was normal as it could be. A few of your clients came in and you held your appointments with them as normal. The only thing noticeably different was the slot in the morning that was now empty since Jamie has decided to stop coming. 

No, shit doesn't hit the fan until about an hour after you've finished eating your lunch. 

You're in the middle of a session with a client when you and Miranda start hearing shouting just outside the room. You apologize and stand from your seat, about to go see what all the commotion is, when the door to your office flies open. 

Blanc is standing there, panting as though he just ran a mile. Theresa stands behind him, scowling at his back. He zeroes in on you, and almost immediately a look of relief crosses his face. You stand there confused as he walks over, hands reaching out to pull you into his chest for a brief hug. A question is on the tip of your tongue waiting to be asked but he abruptly pulls away and grabs a hold of your hand, gripping it firmly and beginning to tug you out of your office. 

"Blanc," you question, trying to get him to stop, but he's far stronger than he looks and his steps don't falter. "Blanc...Ben!" 

He hesitates at that, glancing over his shoulder at you. His steps only slow down a hair and at this point, you're in the hallway outside your office. "We need to leave."

"What is going on?" You ask, exasperated. 

His lips thin and he shakes his head. "I'm afraid it's not safe for you to be here right now. I'm taking you back to the house."

That bad feeling that's been circling your head all day rears up once more. "What changed?"

He stops in his tracks and you nearly run into his back. He turns to face you fully, an almost apologetic look on his face. 

"We didn't think it was possible."

"Ben," you say quietly, "you're scaring me."

His hand squeezes your own briefly, the only bit of comfort you get before his words douse you with cold water. 

"Mr. Drysdale has managed to pay his bail."


	23. A Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooohhhhhh things are heating uppppppp ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> Be prepared for these next couple of chapters! Shit is about to get real folks. 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos <3 y'all give me life i swear

"--I need to know where he is _right now_ \--"

"--the lawyers shouldn't have been able to negotiate--"

"--I need a police escort to and from the property, no matter who is coming or going--"

"--the bail was set at over _one million dollars,_ how could he manage to pay--"

A slight pressure on your shoulder makes you jump in your seat. You look over to the apologetic face of Trooper Moore, holding out a cup of coffee to you and a small smile on his face. You don't voice how you don't like the liquid, simply taking it and allowing the hot drink to warm your hands. He sits himself down in the chair across from you, his own cup of coffee in his hands. 

When Blanc took you back to the house, it was already teeming with police. Louie was giving orders and making calls, only briefly stopping to ask if you were all right. You only nodded your head and then let Blanc lead you into the living room, where you found the rest of the Cabrera's sitting on the furniture and looking just as scared as you felt. Marta opened her arms and let you sink into her side, taking whatever comfort you could get. Alice was sitting close to her mother on the love seat, for once not on her phone. Mrs. Cabrera would say something every once in a while and Alice would nod, but the atmosphere in the room was bleak. 

"When did he get out?" Marta asks quietly, lifting her eyes to look at Trooper Moore. He clears his throat and sits up in his chair. 

"Around noon today. We were informed after the official paperwork went through. That's why we had Detective Blanc retrieve Dr. Y/N from her work so that she could be informed of the change."

You stare ahead as Trooper Moore continues to speak. You pick up bits and pieces here and there, him explaining how his lawyers helped him secure the money legally and how it took so long for the paperwork to be approved by the judge. 

Blanc walks into the room and over to you. He sits down on your other side and takes your coffee from your hands without a word, switching it out with a cup of tea instead before he sips from the drink Trooper Moore had given you. You look at him in thanks and he nods just the tiniest bit. He stretches his arm out over the back of the couch behind your head and you adjust until your leaning into his side more comfortably. 

The exchange doesn't go unnoticed by the others in the room. Mrs. Cabrera and Marta have the decency to act like nothing is out of the ordinary, but Alice just stares with her jaw dropped and Trooper Moore smirks at the two of you. 

"Oh, wait until my brother hears about _this--"_

"What?" Blanc asks with a frown. 

Trooper Moore shakes his head with a barely suppressed chuckle. You find yourself just as confused as your companion. 

"What are you talking about?"

 _"Joshua,"_ Marta shakes her head, her brows furrowing together. You turn to her with a question on your expression. She sighs and closes her eyes, fixing a glare on Trooper Moore after opening them. Since when did Marta get close enough with Trooper Moore to refer to him by first name?

"Marta?"

"Joshua is just picking on his poor brother. Don't pay any attention to him."

You look at the officer in confusion. "Jameson?"

"Now would be a highly inappropriate time to discuss this." Marta once more scowls in his direction, and he manages to look a little abashed. 

"You're right, I apologize." Trooper Moore sips from his drink and fixes his eyes on a corner of the room, avoiding your gaze. 

Blanc has been stiff at your side since Trooper Moore mentioned his brother. He only relaxes when you rest your cup on your lap and lean your head against his shoulder, scooting closer to his person. His hand drops down to rest on your shoulder. 

"Okay," Louie says, walking into the room. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets and he looks at each of us before sitting down in the chair beside Trooper Moore. "So, as you've already heard, Ransom Drysdale has managed to pay his bail."

"Where is he now?" Marta asks quietly.

Louie glances at her. "He's on house arrest at one of Mrs. Drysdale's homes south of here."

You frown. "Why isn't he at his own house? I thought Linda was done with her son?"

Louie rubs a hand across his face and nods. "That's true. Linda gave a statement to police that she was cutting off contact with her son."

"Probably to maintain a good image for her company because she knows Ransom is going to prison." You're unable to stop the bitter tone in your voice. Blanc squeezes your shoulder briefly in an attempt to give you some comfort.

"That's most likely the reason, though she didn't specify it to us. Richard, however, is still in contact and was more than likely the one who arranged for his son to stay in the home. That's what we're guessing." He shakes his head. "We have two officers staying undercover outside the home and keeping an eye on him to make sure he stays, even though the ankle monitor he was issued to wear would also inform us if he gets more than fifteen feet off the property."

The fact that Ransom is no longer under lock and key in jail makes your hands sweat nervously. Ransom is smarter than most people realize--obviously by the way he planned to murder his own grandfather--and you wouldn't put it past him to either befriend the cops and get them to lie for him, or sneak out some way or another.

"As to why he isn't staying at his own home, we aren't sure. We were just told of the address he _would_ be staying in and it was confirmed that it wasn't a home owned under his name."

"I bet he's pissed about that," you can't help but bite, some of the people in the room giving you shocked looks, "Ransom's ego is large and his house did nothing but feed into it. He prefers the life of luxury, and though I've never seen Linda's other home I bet it isn't one he would have chosen."

"I'll keep that in mind," Louie nods at you. "Benny, can I have a word with you? In the kitchen?"

Blanc removes his hand from your shoulder and stands to his feet, following after Louie back to where the other police officers are speaking in the kitchen. Marta told you that they're here to offer more protection. Not that Blanc isn't doing a good job of being a bodyguard on his own, but after Marta's car was attacked and now add in the fact that Ransom is no longer in police custody, Louie just wants to take some extra precautions. You appreciate it, you really do, and you understand where he's coming from, but you also begin to feel suffocated. So many things are happening in such a short time span and it's making your head feel like it's in a dryer on tumble.

"Hey," Marta says softly, reaching over and taking your hand in her own, "do you want to get some air?"

You nod desperately. She stands and you follow suit, the two of you making your way up the stairs so you can go out onto the deck. The cold air feels nice against your skin and Marta wraps a nearby blanket over her shoulders as the two of you pad over to the railing. You look out into the woods, at the leaves that have changed color and painted the trees an array of oranges and reds and yellows. Fall is normally your favorite season but so much has happened during this time this year that you're not sure if you'll ever feel the same appreciation for it that you used to.

"We're thinking of getting a dog, maybe two." Marta breaks the silence. "I miss Harlan's dogs. I know it was right to give them to Linda but I still miss them."

You nod. "I know. I feel the same way. They were well trained."

Marta nods. A beat of silence passes. "About what Joshua said--"

"What is going on between you two?" You ask, happy to talk about anything at all besides what is going on a floor below you. "Since when did you start calling him Joshua?"

Marta tries to hide a smile on her face, but you easily pick up on it. "Joshua is...nice. He can be somewhat arrogant at times, but he can also be incredibly sweet."

You watch her, and then it's almost as if a lightbulb goes off. "Do you _like_ him?" Marta opens her mouth, her expression telling you that she wants to say _no_ but you hold up a hand and give her a knowing look. "Doesn't matter if you tell the truth or lie, I'll find out either way."

She grimaces. "Yes. I might have some feelings for him."

You feel a smile start to form on your face. Marta, in all the time you've known her, has never been too worried about dating someone. She was focused on school and then she started working for Harlan, and she was content with her life. It wasn't much different for you either. After school, you started working for Harlan and at the practice, and you were so busy that dating was barely a thought in the back of your mind. 

"Does he know?"

She thinks over your question, tugging the blanket closer around her. "I don't know. He's made it a point to talk to me a few times, but I never put too much thought into it."

"He's cute," you tell her, "and he does seem to possess _some_ charm." That manages to get a laugh out of her. You grin, enjoying the simple moment between the two of you. When was the last time you were able to just talk about boys like this? Years?

"I think Mama and Alice have caught on about you and Detective Blanc."

"Yeah," you sigh, "they were going to find out eventually. I did try to keep things...slow, like I originally intended. He wanted to take me out to this nice dinner some evening and I wanted to do it too. Things just escalated, and you know the saying about how bad events bring people together."

"You can still have that dinner." Marta studies you for a moment. "When the case is over and our lives go back to normal then I'm sure that you'll get to experience that with him."

You look at Marta forlornly. "Things will never go back to normal--at least not the normal we're used to."

Silence falls after that and the truth behind your words sinks in. Things will never be normal again for many different reasons. Whether it's the fact that you're living in different homes from before, are involved in a murder case, have new people involved in your lives, or are the owners of some large and wealthy businesses, all of them will contribute to your new life in some way, shape, or form. You never would have imagined that at any point in your life you would be going through something like this, but you can only make the best with what you have. 

You just hope that it's good enough. 

* * *

You manage to last three days without going insane, but you're not sure how much longer you'll be able to manage. There hasn't been a single peep from Ransom, with the police who were instructed to keep their eyes on him saying that he hasn't left the home. There has been a car showing up twice in the past couple of days, but it was just Richard. You and the Cabrera's have stayed on lockdown in the house, not leaving for any reason. Groceries were delivered for you, the lawyers came to the house to prepare you for the case instead of meeting them somewhere, and you once again had to cancel your appointments so there was no work for you to do.

The court date with Ransom is just around the corner and you feel it appropriate to blame your frazzled nerves on this fact. You start to get twitchy, your annoyance building every time you round a corner in the house and almost accidentally bump into a police officer. You appreciate the extra detail that Louie was kind enough to set up for all of you, you truly do, but you also find that you're unable to breathe your own air without one of them being there anymore. 

The only saving grace is that Blanc hasn't left either, instead choosing to stay with you. When he's around the police officers make themselves scarce, even though you're pretty sure they're just in the next room. 

But unfortunately, even that bliss doesn't last. 

When Blanc asks you for the fourth time after three days of being cooped up inside if you need anything and if you're truly okay, you feel like you're going to scream. 

"Ben," you say softly, trying not to take your irritation out on him because he doesn't mean to make you feel this way, "I just would like some time alone."

He blinks at you. "We can go onto the deck--"

"No," you interrupt, "by myself. I just need time on my own."

He gets a knowing look in his eye, and you thank the stars that you've been gifted such an intuitive man who can read you without you having to say a word. "Of course. I'll have Miss Cabrera and Trooper Moore come downstairs for a bit."

Marta and Joshua have also been taking advantage of this time and been speaking with one another more frequently. Since it's been pointed out to you, you've made it a goal to try to see if Joshua might actually harbor any feelings for your friend. 

And what you've seen is definitely promising, to say the least.

"Thank you," you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, "I just...I'm so used to being independent. There are so many people here _all the time_ and I'm not used to it."

He gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, looking down at you with a soft expression. "I should've seen it sooner, and for my blindness, I offer my deepest apologies. You take your time, and we'll be waiting down here."

You sigh, leaning into his touch and giving him a quick hug before turning and walking up the stairs. God, you really _did_ get lucky. 

As you bundle up in a sweater and one of the thick blankets from your room, you remember to grab the book that you're currently reading before heading out onto the deck and sitting in the chair out there. When Blanc took you from work, the two of you left so fast that you didn't have time to grab your phone, purse, or laptop. Everything is still in your office, and the only reason you're not afraid it will be stolen is that Theresa was kind enough to lock up for you when you left. So to help fill the void you've been catching up on movies and reading on some books that Harlan had in his library. You've managed to read one of his novels, and you're pleasantly surprised by how well it was written. It makes you sad, thinking about how many of his books you've never read, and how now that you've officially started reading them you'll never have the chance to talk to him about them. That was one thing you took for granted when you were with him: time. And now it's something you'll never share with him again. 

You feel your hands curl into fists, and you force yourself to breathe in the fall air and calm down. Everything that's happening with Ransom, the approaching court date, preparing your statements and working everything out with the lawyers, trying not to go stir-crazy inside this house, look for your _own_ house (though you're still in love with the last one you were shown), the attacks on your property and Marta's as well--all of it is adding and making you about ready to pull your hair out. Add in the fact that you can barely get a moment's peace anymore and you aren't sure how you haven't lost it yet. 

You managed to spend some time looking through the papers that Jade gave you, other potential listings for you to consider as your future home. You remember laughing at some of them when you perused them with Marta, unsure as to why they were even included in the pile.

* * *

_"Look at this one," you had laughed, pointing at the picture of the front porch, "it's caved in! I wouldn't be buying the house, I'd be buying the property and starting fresh. I'd have to build my own house."_

_"Some fixer-uppers can be cute," she defended, but even you could tell that she wasn't impressed with the property. "Although it is quite cheap."_

_"For obvious reasons." You snorted. You tapped the little square on the bottom of the sheet. "It says sale pending anyway. Some unlucky person already thought they'd like it."_

_"You don't want to find something to fix?"_

_You sighed. "I fix things for a living, and the reward is always nice, but I don't think I want something like that when it comes to a house."_

* * *

You spend your nights with Blanc--not even bothering to hide it anymore--and each night you step into his room he simply holds his arms open and lets you slip into his hold before snuggling close and falling asleep. During the day you two are able to share an intimate moment here and there--whether it's a thank-you kiss from him when you bring him coffee or him simply wanting to hold you for a brief moment, as though he knows that you're approaching that precipice--but you haven't talked about what you'll do when everything is all over. You can't blame him for that, there's simply too much going on right now to plan something as mundane as a dinner, but you think of it as something to look forward to. 

And by the looks he sneaks you, the winks and the smiles, you know he thinks of it in the same way. 

* * *

A few blissful hours later, Marta is the one who inevitably interrupts you. You look up when she slides the door open, a troubled look on her face. You place your bookmark in to mark your spot in the book and give her your full attention. She has her phone pressed to her ear, her brows pulled together, and forming creases on her forehead. 

_Everything okay?_ You mouth at her. She pauses, listening to the other person at the end of the phone before holding it out to you. 

"It's your work," she explains. You frown and take it from her. 

"Hello?"

_"Y/N?"_

"Theresa?" You ask. You pull the phone back and look at the time briefly. It's just past the end of the workday. Why is she still at the office?

_"Oh, good. I've been trying to get a hold of you but you weren't answering your home phone. I called Miss Cabrera because she was listed in your emergency contacts."_

That confuses you. "Theresa, you know that my apartment was broken into. I don't have access to my phone. And my cell is still at the office." You look up at Marta. She's watching you with concern. "I'm guessing you wouldn't have called Marta's phone if it wasn't serious?"

There's a deep breath on the other side of the phone. _"Unfortunately, it is. Your client, Jamie, is here and insisting to talk to you. He says it's urgent."_

You sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the chair. You can feel your heart start to race. "Is everything okay? Is he hurt?"

 _"No,"_ her voice is quieter than it was a moment ago, _"and the office is locked. I didn't let him inside the building."_

"Jamie is not a threat, Theresa, you don't need to worry about him."

_"I'm the only one here right now is the problem. I was on my way out the door and he showed up, insisting that he see you."_

That does nothing but confuse you even more. "He said he was moving out of state because he got a new job. Something must have happened if he came back." Your thoughts begin to race as you come up with possibilities for this happening. "Maybe he was fired?"

_"I don't know, but he doesn't seem entirely stable right now."_

You take a sharp breath. "Do you think he's going to hurt himself?"

 _"I don't know,"_ she answers quickly, as though she's afraid to even suggest such a thing, _"but I think he does need your help right now."_

"I'll be there as soon as possible. Just stay inside the building and keep an eye on him until then, okay?"

 _"Should I let him in?"_ Her voice goes quiet. _"Should I call the police?"_

"No," you immediately say, "he doesn't need the police, he needs someone to talk to. I'll bring Detective Blanc with me anyway, so he can be there on the off chance that something does go south. Just stay inside until I get there and then we can figure all of this out."

_"Okay, Y/N. Just...hurry, please."_

"As soon as possible, I promise." You hang up the phone and hand it back to Marta as you make your way back into the house. She follows behind, silently waiting for you to start explaining what just happened. You go into your room and she shuts the door behind her before sitting on the edge of your bed, silently watching as you move and start dressing in something a little less casual than your sweatpants. You tug on a pair of jeans and grab a coat, slipping your feet into a pair of boots before grabbing your keys off your nightstand. 

"Is something wrong?" She finally speaks, the crease between her brows still there. 

"One of my clients--former clients, I should say--just showed up back at the office. According to Theresa, the receptionist, he's asking to talk to me. I think something bad happened to him."

Her eyes widen. "Is he okay?"

"Physically I think he's fine, but I'm not sure emotionally. Jamie is a good guy, he really is, but he has his own demons that he's been fighting for a long time. I just want to make sure that he's able to fight them off."

You open your door and the two of you pause when you hear shouting downstairs. You share one panicked look before you take off down the stairs and to the kitchen where majority of the yelling can be heard. 

Louie is standing in the doorway, yelling at the police officers to get to their cars and head out. Blanc is nowhere to be seen, but Trooper Moore has a serious look on his face as he and Louie share a few words. 

Joshua looks at you and Marta over his shoulder, his features softening just the slightest bit. He turns back to the Lieutenant and nods before moving quickly out of the room and then the house. 

"What's going on?" You ask, and Louie turns around to face you. There's no care-free and relaxed man standing in front of you, but instead, the Lieutenant who works in a police precinct and has dealt with more crime and violence than any of us can begin to imagine. 

He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. "There was an alarm set off at the precinct; a bomb threat."

Marta covers her mouth with her hand, and you feel a soft gasp escape you. "Is there actually a bomb?"

"We don't know," he walks over to the counter as he talks and picks up his phone, along with a black notebook, "but that's not all we were told."

You can immediately tell from his tone that you're not going to like what else happened. You notice at this point in time that practically all the police officers who have been hanging out around the house for the past three days are now gone almost without a trace.

"Where's Blanc?" You ask, your voice low.

"I'm right here," he says, walking into the room quickly. He moves around Louie's side and you watch with growing concern as he pulls out his gun from where it's usually tucked against his hip and checks if it's loaded. "I'm afraid that the police station is not the only thing to have been attacked in these past few minutes."

"What else?" Marta asks, her voice as quiet as a church mouse.

Louie and Blanc share a look for a brief moment. Blanc turns to you, a similar look on his face to when he came to your work and told you that Ransom had paid his bail. 

"The police who were stationed to watch Ransom called and said that apparently Ransom had tried to kill himself, and was bleeding out. When they went to check on him, he stabbed one of them with the knife and was barely detained by the other officer. We're going down there to make sure that everything is okay."

You hear Marta's breath catch behind you. You don't have to look at her face to know she's thinking of when Ransom almost stabbed her. You reach back and feel her grip your hand tightly, as though it's a lifeline.

"Wait," you ask, your voice sounding raw even to your own ears, "what do you mean 'we'?"

Louie once more looks at the man at his side. "Detective Blanc and I are going to join the other officers in driving down to where Mr. Drysdale is and making sure--"

"No," you say quickly, shaking your head to back your statement up, "you shouldn't go down there. Ransom is dangerous--"

"--and we're cops." Louie's voice is calm, but you can see there's no chance at arguing with him here. But you have to try anyway. "This isn't the first time we've been in a situation like this."

You walk over to Blanc and place your hand on his own that's holding his gun and turn your pleading eyes on him. "Don't go, please. I don't like the idea of you or Louie being anywhere near him. He's dangerous."

Blanc looks down at you with a torn expression. The worry lines on his forehead are more prominent than ever as he wars with himself on what to do. He smooths one hand over your cheek and brushes your hair from your face before leaning forward to kiss the top of your head. 

"I have to, Sweetheart. I'll feel better knowin' myself that this lunatic is far away from you."

You shake your head, feeling desperate tears build up behind your eyes. "I got a call from work and I have to go in to help with a client. I need you to come with me."

The concern on his face deepens. "I would, but this is more important. But I don't want you goin' there, you hear me? I don't want you to leave this house until we get back."

You blink at him in shock. "Blanc, I _have_ to go--"

"No," he says, his tone firmer than it was before. "The way you feel about me going to Mr. Drysdale's is how I feel about you leaving without me."

You can't help the anger the begins to build inside you. "Then why are you going if you know how I feel?"

Blanc hesitates at your argument. You step out of his touch, your frown turning into a scowl. "Why is it that you can do things like this but I'm told to stay behind? I say don't go because I don't want you getting _hurt--"_

"--and that's how I feel--"

"--but this isn't a one-sided thing going on here, Blanc," you finish, "you can't brush off my concern and then expect me to listen to yours. Otherwise, it's just one-sided what we have."

His face falls, and you feel your chest splinter. Your lower lip wobbles but you _refuse_ to cry. You turn, ready to walk out of the room, when a warm hand grips your wrist. You stop, not turning around to face him. 

"Y/N, please don't."

Your chest breaks apart some more as you tug your hand out of his hold and move out of the kitchen and into the living room. Marta follows behind quietly, and there the two of you wait. Five minutes later you hear Louie and Blanc exit the house and their car startup. You wait a few minutes and then after you check to make sure they're gone you head for the front door. 

"What are you doing?" Marta asks, her steps fast behind you. 

"I'm going to check on Jamie."

A sigh. A pause. 

"Give me one second to get my shoes."

You stop, turning to look at her with surprise. "Why?"

She gives you a look as though you're thicker than mud. "Because I'm going with you. I won't let you do this alone."

You move forward and give her a tight hug. "Thank you," you say into her shoulder, "thank you for always being there for me. For having my back."

"Of course," she hugs you just as tight back, "and don't worry about Blanc. You two will get over this bump."

You release her and start walking back outside, not wanting to have that discussion with her. Or with anybody. 

You'll focus first on helping Jamie, and then you can worry about your personal life and all the shit that comes with it. 


	24. A Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLEEEEE
> 
> This chapter was fun but I also wrote it kind of fast so I apologize if it's shite lmao
> 
> Thank you for reviews/kudos :))

You have no idea why Jamie suddenly showed up back at the office, though you do make some guesses. Theresa didn't sound too worried about her own safety, more so for him. That does nothing but make you even more concerned for your former client. What could have possibly happened to him that he would show up at such a time and be so persistent about seeing you? Jamie has always been early--and he knows when the office closes for the day--so it makes no sense to you that he would show up at a time when people would normally not be there. It was just lucky for him that Theresa was still there. 

Marta sits quietly in the passenger seat, her phone held tightly in her hands. Every few minutes she receives a text and responds to them before locking her phone once more and staring out the window. 

"Is it Joshua?" You finally ask, your curiosity burning inside of you.

She nods. "He went back to the station to help with the bomb threat. I was asking if everything is okay."

"Is it?"

"They're combing through the building and have been using the dogs, but so far nothing has been found. They won't call the bomb squad until they're more sure something is there."

You frown. Jamie showing up at your work, a bomb threat at the police station, _and_ Ransom acting out of line? All within the span of an hour? You know it's suspicious--you're not blind--but you aren't sure how to handle this situation in any other way. Everybody has gone their separate ways, with Mrs. Cabrera and Alice being the only ones who stayed behind at the house. 

You're distracted from your thoughts when Marta's phone starts buzzing. She makes a face, as though she's feeling sick to her stomach. 

"What? What is it?"

"I told him that we were on our way to your office. He asked if Blanc was with us and I said no."

"Shit," you mutter. Just what you need--add Joshua to the list of people who are going to be mad that the two of you left the house alone. "Answer it if you want, but we're almost there so there's nothing he can do now."

She hesitates with her finger over the screen before declining the call. You get a sense of Deja Vu, a flashback to when you were in the car with Marta and Ransom and she denied Blanc's phone calls. Are you making the same mistake? 

"We're here," you say as you pull into the parking lot. There are two other cars here, one you know is Theresa's and the other one you're assuming is Jamie's. There's no sign of Jamie outside so you're guessing that Theresa let him inside. It is quite cold out. You turn your car off and unbuckle your seatbelt, turning to Marta. "You can stay here if you want or you can come inside. He's more comfortable with me though so it might be best if I talk to him alone."

Marta nods. "Yeah, okay. I should probably call Joshua anyway. I feel bad for not answering." She places a hand on your arm as you push your door open. "Just be safe, yeah?"

You nod. You wish you had your phone on you but once you get to your office and grab it, more than likely it'll be dead anyway. You give her a tight-lipped smile and slip out, shutting the door behind you. You walk up the steps quickly and open the door, walking into the front room and breathing in the clean smell that greets you. The smell of this building brings you a sense of calm. You're in your zone when you're here--you have a job and you do it well. 

"Theresa?" You call out into the empty room. "Jamie?" Nothing. Not a single peep. The ticking of the clock behind Theresa's desk is the only sound to be heard. The lights are still on so you know they're here, just not where exactly. 

You walk back to the hall and towards your office. Your room is the only one with the light on. The door is cracked just enough that a sliver of light shines out, and the entire scene sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. Maybe you should've waited, maybe you should have had Marta come in with you as backup, but it's too late now. You have to see what you can do to help. 

"Jamie?" Your voice is a little quieter than it was before as you push the door open and look inside. Everything that you can see looks to be intact, so you take a step further into the room. 

Instantly an arm reaches out and curls around your throat, tugging you back into someone's chest and squeezing tight. You let out a gasp of precious air as your hands grapple with the muscle cutting off all of your air supply. A swift kick to the back of your knee has your leg caving and you fall to the ground, unable to focus on standing while also trying to pry the arm from your throat. Flashbacks to Ransom's hands squeezing the life out of you pop up in your mind. 

A choked cry escapes you and you give up on trying to remove the arm, instead blindly reaching backward in an attempt to claw the face of whoever is doing this and get them to release you. The other hand of the person fumbles around and grasps the fingers of your left hand, squeezing tightly to the point that it feels as though they're about to break. You cry out in pain and remove your fingers, trying to pull them back. 

"Fucking bitch," a voice snarls in your ear as you feel your strength begin to leave you, "don't know when to quit, do you?"

That voice...you know that voice. You're _afraid_ of that voice. 

"Ran...som..." you manage to croak, and the name falling off your lips does nothing but earn a dark chuckle from your attacker. 

"Bet you thought you saw the last of me, didn't you?"

You want to say something more, you want to _fight back_ some more, but you feel your eyes rolling up into your head at the lack of oxygen and you feel the dark blanket settling over your eyes. Against your will, you pass out in the arms of the one person you despise most on the entire planet. 

Your last thought is one of regret, of how you should have listened to Benoit, and how you're sorry for how you last treated him.

* * *

_"My sister called me this afternoon," Blanc settles into the couch for your nightly movie, stretching his legs out onto the ottoman and resting his arm behind your head for you to rest on. You sink into his side and situate yourself so you're at max comfort. "Asked when I was coming back to visit."_

_You stiffen in your seat, unable to stop the immediate reaction. You force yourself to relax, but you already know he noticed. "Oh. That must be nice. How long are you going to be gone?"_

_Blanc chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you. "Well, I was hoping that we would stay for around two weeks."_

_You tilt your head to look up at him. "We? Who's going with you?"_

_His lips tilt up into a smile. "Why, you, of course."_

_You find yourself grinning back at him. "Really?"_

_He nods, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. "I was going to see if after your services are no longer required in court if you would like to take a...small vacation. I think you've earned it."_

_"Me?" You blink at him. "I think_ you're _the one who has earned a break, Benoit."_

_His eyes soften. "I do love hearin' you say that."_

_You smirk. "Benoit Blanc, the greatest detective I've ever known."_

_His smile brightens the entire room. "I don't know if I would go that far, but I appreciate it all the same." His face turns serious for a brief moment. "Does this mean you'll go with me?"_

_"If it means I get to spend more time with you," you lean forward, your voice just above a whisper, "then I'll gladly go along. I would love to meet your sister."_

_You smooth one hand on his chest and lean forward for another kiss, to which he happily gives you. When you pull back you snuggle into shoulder and press play on the remote._

_"And I'll make sure to tell you that you're the greatest detective out there every chance I get."_

_He laughs at that. "As long as it means you'll say my name enough."_

_"Anything you want, Benoit."_

* * *

The smell is the first thing you notice as you come back to consciousness.

It's earthy yet musty, like something underground. Your face is cold, and when you crack your eyes open you find yourself looking directly at the ground. There's a drum beating behind your eyes, making you wince every time that you move. You go to push yourself up only to find that your hands are bound in front of you, as well as your ankles. You're still wearing all of your clothes, which you count as a good sign, but the fact that the room you're in is so dark you can barely see two feet in front of you is _not_ a good sign. 

Your body aches, either from laying on the concrete beneath you or being tossed around by your captor. 

_Ransom._

You look around quickly, making sure that he's not hiding in some corner. You see a shape move a few feet away and you stiffen, scooting backwards as well as one can in this situation and putting distance between the two of you. You would try to untie yourself, but your hands have been duct-taped together and you couldn't use them if someone threatened you with a gun to your head. 

You try to take stock of where you are. Your earlier observations lead you to believe you're in a basement, but of _what?_ It looks too small to be a warehouse or something of a similar variety, so maybe you're in the basement of a house?

A soft groan once more draws your attention back to the other occupant of the room. They move slowly, and you get the idea that they feel just about the same that you do right now. Does that mean they're not bad?

You hear a sharp intake of air. They scramble around until they're no longer sitting on the ground. "Y/N?"

You gasp, scooting in their direction even though a minute ago you didn't want to be anywhere near them. "Marta? Oh my god!"

The two of you work yourselves across the hard floor until you're close enough to collapse on one another, exhausted with the effort of it all. You can feel her tears soaking into your shirt and cooling the skin beneath it, but you don't say a word. She's terrified, and you are as well, but in a situation like this one of you has to remain in control. 

"Where are we?" She whispers with a sniffle. 

"I don't know," you say, and you wince at the familiar ache in your throat that you didn't notice when you spoke earlier. Now that you're able to focus more on the situation you're able to feel just how much your body actually hurts. "Marta, how did you end up here?"

You're close enough that you can see the way her face screws up and her lip trembles. "I was in the car, on the phone with Joshua, and then this man came up to the window and asked for help and I got out to help him and then he--" a sob escapes her and you wish you could take her in your arms but you can't, "--he put something on my face and I tried to get away but he was too strong, and oh, Y/N, I just want things to go back to _normal."_

You feel your own tears start to fall down your face. "I know, me too, but we have to get through this. Okay?"

"If it's the money they want, then they can have it. I just want to go home."

_The money._

"Marta," you say lowly, "I need to tell you something."

She sniffles, looking at you with worry. "What?"

"I don't know who grabbed you, but Ransom is the one who took me."

She gasps loudly. _"Ransom?_ He's the one who did this?"

You nod, feeling sick to your stomach. "He's one of them."

"I thought he was on house arrest!" 

You shake your head. "He must have gotten out somehow." You close your eyes tight, admonishing yourself for not thinking that he would try something, even as low as kidnapping. "I should have known that he would do something like this, should have stayed home like we were _told--"_

"Don't say that," Marta says quietly, "this isn't your fault. You shouldn't have to plan for something awful like this, _no_ person should."

"Are you hurt?" You ask, wanting to focus on something besides the guilt threatening to swallow you whole. It's your fault that Marta is stuck in this mess with you, no matter what she might say. 

She shakes her head. "No, but this tape is tight."

"So is mine," you say as you try wiggling your fingers. You can't even do that. "We need to find something to try to get out of here. Do you see anything lying around? Or something hanging off the wall we could use?"

You and Marta start looking around in the dark room as best as you can, though you don't have much hope of finding anything. From what little you can see you are able to tell that there's hardly anything down here with you, if anything at all. There's the sound of a doorknob being turned on the other side of the room, causing both of you to freeze. You do your best to shove Marta behind you as the door opens and a rectangle of light shines into the room. 

The first thing you make out is that your assumption of being in a basement is correct. The door is located at the top of a set of old wooden stairs, the person standing in the frame silhouetted against the light. It isn't until they start walking towards you, their boots heavy on the creaky frames, that you're able to see the face of who has you trapped down here. 

"Well, well, well," he says smugly and rubs his hands together enthusiastically, "fancy seeing you two here."

"What the _fuck,_ Ransom?" You seethe, unable to stop your ire from escaping even though you're shaking on the inside. "What are you doing? Do you think that assault and kidnapping are going to make the judges or jury go any easier on you? On top of the _murder_ charges?"

He's in front of you before you can get the air to yell at him some more, his hand tangling into your hair and wrenching your head back so fast you're surprised you don't get whiplash. You wince at the harsh grip and bare your teeth at him in a snarl. 

He leans down until he's mere inches from your face, looking eerily calm. "I don't plan on getting _caught,_ Sweetheart."

You flinch at the term of endearment, especially since it's one that Blanc likes to use with you. "Don't call me that."

Ransom smirks at you, obviously enjoying your discomfort. He lets go of your hair suddenly and your scalp throbs from release in tension, adding to your already forming headache. 

"If you want the money, then just take it!" Marta pipes up for the first time, taking the attention off of you. "You can have it. It isn't worth any of this, Ransom, you can still do the right thing!"

Ransom looks at your friend as though she's grown a second head. "You think this is about _money?_ _"_ He straightens, staring down at the two of you. "Maybe it was at first, but now? I couldn't care less about it." 

There's a soft thud at the top of the stairs, and the three of you look up to find the source. When you turn your gaze back to Ransom you find him grinning to himself, as though he knows something you do not. 

"Hey bud, come down here. I think it's time you meet the guests." Ransom's tone is patronizing, as though he's angry at whoever he's speaking to. 

Another figure appears at the top of the stairs, this one a bit smaller than Ransom in size and stature. They walk down and into the basement, their steps clumsier and less confident than the asshole standing beside you. When you're able to make out their appearance, you find a gasp leaving you, and your vision tunneling onto their lone person. 

"Jamie," you breathe, unable to process what you're seeing. The man in question is undoubtedly the client that you've been working closely with and thought to be someone you could trust. Someone who you thought was finally doing something for themselves and had improved to the point where they no longer needed your services. 

How wrong you were. 

Jamie looks pale, his short hair matted to his forehead with sweat. His hands are wringing together in front of him nervously and his eyes continue to shift between you and Marta on the floor and Ransom's sinister grin. 

"He's been the _best_ assistant that money could buy!" Ransom claps his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the room. 

You're still caught off guard by the unexpected betrayal that it takes a few seconds for Ransom's words to register. You blink at Jamie in shock. "Ransom _paid_ you to kidnap us?"

Jamie's face tightens and it looks to you as though he's about to vomit. Ransom's ironic laughter erupts out of him and sounds like nails on a chalkboard in your ears. 

"You think that's all he did? Oh, no, he's done _much_ more than that. Helping to get you two here was just a part of the gig." Ransom folds his arms over his chest and starts pacing in a circle around you and Marta. "See, where did we start? Oh, that's right, your apartment."

You blink at Ransom, feeling an icy grip working its way down your throat and through your whole body. "What did you do to my apartment?"

Ransom puts a hand to his chest. "I did nothing. Buddy boy _Jamie_ over here did quite the job in that shack you called a home, didn't he?"

You feel the horror growing on your face. You look to Jamie, hoping that what Ransom is insinuating isn't true. "Jamie, you _didn't."_

Your former client looks away from your gaze and is unable to hide the guilt on his face. That's more of an answer than if he had spoken. 

"It wasn't hard for him to get your address and then get inside, was it?" Ransom looks almost proud of the crime that Jamie committed. "Made sure to mess it up a bit, leave a little 'hello' from me?"

"You're the one who left that awful message on my wall?" You feel Marta lean closer to your back, whether it's as comfort or something else, you're not sure. 

"I-I didn't know it was your home, Y/N," Jamie's voice is soft and timid, the first words he has spoken since he walked into the room. "He just had me follow a certain car to their house. He didn't say--"

"You were paid, and you did the job." Gone is Ransom's teasing and instead now it's replaced with the normal venom that you were at one point used to hearing. "Don't act like it was anything else." He runs a hand over the stubble on his jaw briefly. "And then our friend here did a _fantastic_ job with Marta's dumbass car. I've hated that thing ever since I first saw it, and riding in it with the two of you made me want to drive it over a cliff. But I guessed trashing it would just have to do.

"Then after I got out of jail, which took some _serious_ sacrificing, in case you were wondering," he narrows his eyes at nothing in particular, "I had to get you alone. And what better way to do that than to have good old Jamie boy here lure you out in the open? Of course, _my_ family home was swarming with police, so calling in a bomb threat and then making up a lie about the attack at mom's favorite vacation home were easy to fake. And then my personal chauffeur picked me up and away we were to here."

"How did you manage to get away? We were told you were on house arrest!" Marta looks just as shocked as you feel.

Ransom smiles at her. "Father dearest was nice enough to take that over for me."

Your eyes widen. "Did you kill your own father?"

He actually has the audacity to wink at you. He doesn't answer your question, and you can't help but worry for Richard, though he has faults of his own.

The pieces click together in your mind. "It was you, this whole time." Your gaze swings over to Jamie, who still refuses to look you in the eye. "When you told me you had a job as a personal assistant, _this_ is what you were doing? Breaking into people's homes, trashing private property, destroying cars?" Anger seeps through you, feeding off your adrenaline rush. "How _dare_ you even agree to something like this! You're a better person than this!" You turn to Ransom with the same glare. "And you! I knew you were a piece of shit this whole time, but this? Even this is a new low for you! You've just admitted to plotting all of this and now kidnapping?"

Ransom once more grabs a tight hold of your hair and pushes you down until your face is pressed painfully against the concrete. You hear Marta cry out behind you but thanks to the bindings on both of your hands and feet she's unable to help you at all. 

"Listen, I _told you_ that I would mess your lives up. Once I'm through with you two, I'm out of here. Nobody will ever find me, and they'll never find your bodies."

"Ransom--" Jamie steps in, alarmed. 

"Shut the fuck up before I lock you down here with them," he snarls at the other man. "The only reason I'm letting you upstairs is because at this point you're just as guilty as me. Fuck it up and you'll be joining them."

_Never find out bodies? What is Ransom planning to do?_ You would like to think that Ransom would never kill you or Marta, but then you remember that Ransom tried to kill his own Grandfather and _did_ kill Fran. 

The realization that Ransom will most likely kill both of you sends a bolt of fear through your body, shocking your senses.

Ransom releases you with one last shove to the ground and stands. "Make sure they're secured and then come upstairs. Lock the door behind you."

Ransom turns without another word and stomps up the stairs, leaving the three of you alone. Your face and scalp ache from Ransom's harsh treatment, and you push yourself into a sitting position once more using your elbows. 

You look at Jamie, unable to grasp everything that's happened. 

"I expected more from you, Jamie."

He winces at the blow. "I'm sorry, Y/N, you have to believe me--"

"I was trying to help you and then you knocked me out," Marta pipes up, angry as well, "what kind of person does that?"

He looks to the ground, ashamed. A few moments pass, and then he looks up the stairs to the doorway for a few seconds before focusing on you and Marta once more. He moves forward and crouches down close in front of you. You and Marta shy away immediately at his close presence, no longer sure of what to expect. 

He hesitates, looking apologetically at you before reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. Your eyes widen when you notice it's his phone. You had no time to grab your phone from the office and you assumed that Marta didn't have hers either. 

He lays it down gently on the concrete in front of you, swiping it so it unlocks and pulling up the phone app. 

"Call someone, please," he whispers, a lace of fear in his tone, "and then hide the phone. Don't let him see it. I don't know our exact address, but we're somewhere in Jacksonville, on Washington Street." He reaches out as if to put a hand on your shoulder but decides against it at the last second. "I'm very sorry, Y/N, you have to believe me. I had no choice."

"Everyone has a choice, Jamie," you murmur back, watching him cower. He stands and with one last glance at the two of you, he walks up the stairs and shuts the door. The light from the phone is the only source of brightness in the room. Marta scoots around from behind your back until she's at your side. 

"How are we going to dial? Who do we call? The police?"

You think over what Jamie told you. Something about it sounded familiar, the Jacksonville and Washington Street...That's not very far from the Thrombey house, just under an hour. You look further around the basement, trying to take in any possible objects that would help you to see if this place is more recognizable...

And then there, in the corner, you see it. A boiler. A _familiar_ boiler.

"Marta," you gasp, "this house. It's one of the ones that Jade showed to us. The one that was sale pending. Did Ransom buy this house?"

"Call the police," she says quickly, "tell them where we are."

"I'm calling Blanc," you say instead, after debating it for less than a second, "he's with Louie. The police station is under lockdown right now."

For the next thirty seconds, you struggle to type out Blanc's phone number with your nose, since your hands are unable to do it for you. Finally, you hit send and it starts ringing. 

And ringing. 

And ringing. 

And there's no answer.

"Try again," Marta whispers. You hit the callback button, and lay your head on the ground close to the receiver. It starts ringing again. 

It rings three times, and you're prepared to give up and call 911, but then he answers.

_"Detective Blanc."_

Simply hearing his voice makes you want to burst into tears. The fear and hurt that you've been pushing aside for Marta's sake rears its ugly head and pushes forward to the front of your mind. 

"Benoit," you whisper, unable to hide the turmoil inside you. 

There's a pause on the other end of the phone. _"Y/N? Sweetheart, is that you?"_

You nod, and only barely remember that he can't see you. "Yes, yes. It's me. I'm using someone else's phone."

_"Where are you? We've been looking for you for over an hour--"_

"It's Ransom, Ben. Marta and I went to the office and he was waiting for us there."

_"Ransom?"_ The surprise in his voice tells you that he didn't know Ransom wasn't at his mother's house. _"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"_ His tone is urgent.

"No," you cry, trying your best to muffle your sobs from both the men upstairs and the one on the other end of the phone, "no, we're not all right. He has us locked in the basement of a house on Washington Street down in Jacksonville."

There's shouting from Blanc on the other end of the phone. The wind blows past the receiver and then you hear the slamming of a door. _"Which one? Sweetheart, can you tell me exactly which house? We're on our way now. It shouldn't take us more than an hour, but if the Lieutenant will_ step on it _then we'll be there faster."_

You hear the muffled response from Louie on the other end of the phone. "I-it's one of the ones that was recently sold. Jade wanted me to look at it. I'm not sure what the exact address is." You take a deep breath. "Ben, I need you to hurry. I don't know what he's going to do but I know it's not good."

_"You let me worry about Mr. Drysdale, you understand?"_ Blanc tries to sound soothing but it's so forced that you can easily detect the anger hidden underneath. _"Just try to keep him away from you for as long as possible, okay? I need you to stay safe for me."_

"We'll try. Ben, there's someone else here. It's--"

There's a clanging from upstairs. You and Marta immediately hush, but Blanc continues speaking from the phone. 

"I have to go," you whisper, not wanting to end the call but more afraid of Ransom finding out about this.

_"No, Y/N, Darlin', don't do this--"_

"I'm sorry." You take a deep breath. "I love you."

You end the call and lock the phone before Blanc gets the chance to say something more, flipping it over and then pushing it away so that it skids far away from you to the other end of the room, away from where Ransom would see it if he comes downstairs again. Tears are streaming down your face. 

"You love him?" Marta whispers.

You nod your head. "I wanted to make sure he knew." You look at your friend over your shoulder, finding the same fear in her eyes that you have in your own. "Because I don't think we're getting out of here alive."


	25. A Sad Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter! As I was trying to post it I realized I didn't really like it so I decided to rewrite it. If I'm satisfied with it even now is still to be determined. 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos!

You and Marta quickly move backward as the door at the top of the stairs are quickly pushed open. You don't have to wait long before Ransom is stomping down the steps, a thunderous look on his face.  _ Did he find out already? _

"What did you do?" He practically spits, brows pulled tight together in the middle of his forehead. "What did that spineless little shit say to you?"

You blink at him, trying to act like you don't know what he's talking about, especially since you can't let Marta try to lie for the both of you. That would only end in disaster. 

_ And would also immediately let Ransom know that you're not telling him the truth. _

"He didn't say anything," you answer, letting your voice shake just a little bit just to be more convincing. Not that you have to fake the fear to begin with. Ransom is unpredictable right now--who knows what he's willing to do.

Ransom moves forward and in the dim light, you're just able to make out the hammer in his fist that you didn't see when he first came downstairs. It makes your breath catch briefly as he white-knuckles the handle. He reaches forward and drags you away from Marta by your sweater, effectively stretching the fabric. He lets you flop down onto your side on the concrete as he crouches down and looks Marta in the eye. She flickers her eyes over to you every few seconds, wide with fear, as you struggle to push yourself back into a sitting position.

"Tell me, Marta, what Jamie said to you two when I left."

Marta swallows nervously before answering. "He...he tried defending himself after Y/N said she was disappointed in him, and then he apologized." Her voice grows more confident with each word. "We didn't accept his apology and he was upset when he left."

_ Thatta girl, Marta! _

Ransom studies her silently for a few seconds, watching and waiting for her to puke up her lies. "You're not going to vomit like you did last time you lied, are you? Because I'll let it sit down here with the two of you and rub both your faces in it."

You have to suppress the urge to kick his back with your bound feet. Marta shakes her head. "That's what happened."

Ransom pauses for a few more moments before deciding to accept her answer. You feel a giant wave of relief go through you that your weak attempt at bluffing passed his test. Marta didn't lie--that is what was said to Jamie--just not  _ all _ that was said. 

He stands and flips the hammer casually in the air before expertly catching it by the handle once again. He studies it for a moment. "I think I'll use this first. But not  _ yet."  _ He grins at us both and then moves up the stairs again and slams the door shut, once again enclosing us in almost complete darkness. 

You and Marta let out a sigh at the same time, slouching where you're seated. It feels like you've run a marathon and now all your adrenaline is failing. 

"What are we going to do, Y/N?" Marta tries hard to hide her panic, you can tell, but you've known her long enough to be able to tell when she's feeling scared. "What does he want to do to us? Why go this far and risk your  _ life _ for this?"

"Because his life is already over, Marta," you explain calmly, feeling your rage take place of where you lost your energy and start to build it up once more, "he's going to prison for the rest of his life for killing Fran, if not going straight to death row."

Marta inhales sharply. "You think they'll kill him?"

The sneer on your face is natural. "Whether they kill him or let him rot in prison for the rest of his life,  _ I don't care, _ I just want him far away from me so that he never has the chance to hurt me or anyone I love ever again."

"But what does he have in mind right now?" Marta once more brings your focus back to the present. "He'll never be anywhere close to having either of those things done to him if he manages to escape."

"He won't," you interject quickly, "Blanc and Louie and the rest of the police force are coming here. They'll get him before he has the chance to run."

Marta's face pinches and her voice lowers to a level that makes it almost impossible for me to hear. "They're over an hour away, Y/N." She sounds defeated like she's already given up and accepted whatever fate Ransom has in store for us, but you haven't. You refuse to go out because of a dickwad like him. 

You swallow the panic that threatens to rise. You need to keep a cool and calm head right now--not freak out over what the future might hold. "I know. If we manage to keep him away and stall him long enough for the others to come back, then we'll be fine. I trust the others--I trust Ben. He'll come."

Marta looks at you with sympathetic eyes. "I know he will--but I'm just worried if he'll come in  _ time." _

"Have faith, Marta," you want to reach out and hug her, but your bound hands don't allow for that to be an option right now, "don't be such a pessimist."

"Are you not freaking out right now?" She asks. 

"Of course I'm freaking out," you hiss, "but doing that isn't going to help either of us right now. Why spend this time with high blood pressure when there's nothing we can do for the time being?"

She lets out a large sigh. "You're right. I'm sorry, I just feel like vomiting, and I haven't even lied this time."

You lean forward and press your forehead to her own and close your eyes, offering comfort in the only way you can at the moment. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. We've come too far and gone through too much together for this to be it for us."

She leans into your touch, and for a brief moment, you feel like you've finally gotten through to her.

And then one little sound completely breaks down any tentative and weak walls of security you managed to build around the two of you.

Jamie's phone starts to ring in the corner of the basement. 

_ Loudly. _

The shrill ringtone echoes throughout the dark prison as your ears cancel out any other sound. You don't hear it when the door to the basement is kicked open, you don't hear Ransom running down the steps, and you don't hear him at first when he begins to shout at you and Marta.

You only manage to catch the last part of his tirade, but even from that little bit alone, you can tell that he is  _ not happy. _

"--lying assholes!" He runs over to the corner of the basement and picks up the phone, reading the caller ID on the screen. His frown morphs into something even uglier as he seems to recognize the name displayed. "Why the  _ hell _ is Detective Foghorn calling?" He grinds his teeth together and drops the phone to the floor before roughly stomping on it with his boot, cracking the screen and sending sparks throughout the room. 

He stands there for a few seconds, shoulders moving a little faster than normal as he tries to control the rage that is threatening to be unleashed inside of him. He turns on his heel slowly and stares at where you and Marta are frozen on the ground. You're terrified because Ransom finding out about the phone was not in your list of things you wanted to happen. In fact, you can confidently say it was at the  _ bottom _ of the list. 

He starts moving in your direction slowly, and you find yourself struggling to come up with something to deter his obvious warpath. His eyes are zeroed in on Marta and you know it's not good what he has in his mind right now. 

"Ransom," you say, but he doesn't look at you, "you need to calm down. Don't do anything you're going to regret--"

"Regret?" He laughs darkly. "Oh, I'm not going to regret this. I haven't regretted any of what I've done so far, so what makes you think I'm going to regret  _ this?" _

Marta screams as he bends down and snatches her by the collar of her shirt, lifting her partially in the air and bringing her face close to his own. He uses the other hand to grab a handful of hair and yank her head back, exposing her throat. 

"Leave her the fuck alone!" You yell, moving as fast as you can in their direction to try something,  _ anything, _ to get him away from her. 

"Where did that phone come from?" He yells in her face. "I know one of you two were the ones who used it. Better not fucking lie to me, Marta. This is the only chance you have to tell me the truth."

Marta, terrified as she is right now, doesn't say a word. Which, you can't help but think, is incredibly  _ stupid. _

"Don't feel like talking?" Ransom asks, almost  _ happy _ with the lack of an answer. "That's fine. This just gives me an excuse to start on things a little  _ earlier _ than planned." He releases her hair and grabs something out of his pocket. With a click and a sharp drop in your stomach, you see it's a knife.

"It was me." You don't even think when you open your mouth, you just want his attention and his blade of death away from your friend. "I called the Detective."

Ransom cuts his eyes over to you, sharp as steel. "Why am I not surprised?" He drops Marta unceremoniously onto the floor and moves over to you. "Doesn't matter--I was hoping it would be you anyway. Gives me an excuse to do  _ this." _

You think he's going to use the knife in some way on you, and you stiffen as you brace yourself for it. But the knife doesn't come towards you. Instead, he pockets the blade before he reaches you, and for a brief heartbeat, you think nothing is going to happen. 

And then with a dark chuckle, he grabs the back of your head and pushes it forward, slamming you face-first into the concrete. 

And then he lifts you up and does it again. 

And again.

And again. 

And he continues to do it. Through the sound of your bones breaking and your own muffled cries of pain, you faintly hear Marta screaming in the background, begging, pleading for him to stop. 

But he doesn't. 

And then once your face is so covered in blood that you're practically choking on it, you finally fall unconscious.

* * *

_"Does it ever make you...uncomfortable?"_

_"What?"_

_You shrug, folding your arms in front of you, and looking up at the sky. "The fact that I have all_ _this_...this. _This money. I'm buying a nice house, even for middle-class standards. My name is being televised now, and I was also involved in a murder investigation."_

_Blanc's sudden laughter takes you off guard. You turn your head to face him where he's sitting beside you on the deck, his arm slung behind your shoulders. You wait for him to get his laughter under control, even though you're burning to know why he thinks your concerns are funny._

_He finally notices the look on your face. He stops laughing but pulls you in to press a kiss to your lips before settling back into the loveseat. "Sweetheart, the matter of money or material possessions has never been that big of a deal to me. You've seen my home and you're a smart woman--I thought you would've figured that out by now."_

_You frown. "But material possessions aren't the same as having money. People will know who I am now. I own half of Blood Like Wine and am now considered a-a millionaire!"_

_Blanc takes your hand that had been waving in the air with your words and gently holds it in his own. "Y/N, I've lived quite comfortably in my life for a while now. It's one of the perks of my profession. Money, whether one has it or doesn't, does not change my perception of a person when it comes to who they truly are."_

_You look at him softly. "That's beautiful."_

_He smiles. "I've been told once or twice that I can speak quite eloquently when I try hard enough."_

_You stare at him for a few seconds. "You know, when I get this house...I'll be by myself."_ _He looks at you quizzically, so you go on. "It would be nice to...if someone were there with me."_

_He raises a brow, but even in the moonlight you can see the smile threatening to overtake his lips. "Are you talking about getting a dog?"_

_You frown as he laughs at his own joke. "I might get a dog or a cat at some point, but no, I'm not talking about a pet right now, Benoit."_

_He sobers at your usage of his first name, the teasing smile being replaced with a genuine one. "What are you asking of me, Dr. L/N?"_

_You give a nonchalant look. "I'm becoming used to sleeping in a bed with someone. A particular someone, at that." You shake your head with a sigh. "I guess I'm saying that my door will always be open to you, and I wouldn't mind if you wanted to stay over...a lot."_

_There. That was your way of asking him to move in with you without outright asking him to move in with you. You would just come out and say it, but even though you feel extremely close with Blanc, the two of you really haven't known each other long enough by some people's standards to be at that stage. He_ still _has to take you out on your first date, after all._

_Blanc wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, pressing a passionate yet gentle kiss to your lips. You melt against him and enjoy it, happy with his answer._

_"You might get tired of me, but I'm afraid at this point it's going to be hard to keep me away."_

_You let out a laugh and nudge him with your arm before settling into his side. The sky is full of stars on this night, and the serenity of this point in time makes you long for more moments like these. Hopefully when everything with Ransom is dealt with you'll be able to settle down more and actually enjoy your time with Blanc._

_Because you're pretty sure you're falling in love and you want to spend as much of your life with him as you can._

* * *

_"Y/N, please wake up."_

A voice. Soft and yet urgent, trying not to be too loud but yet desperate in their attempts to rouse you.

You try to open your eyes but it hurts to do so. There's a cool liquid beneath your cheek where it's resting, sticky and thick. You move your tongue in your mouth to try to form some words to tell whoever is speaking to you that you're in agony but all you get for your efforts is the taste of iron and a sharp pain through your mouth. When you run your tongue over your teeth you find that a few of them on the bottom are cracked and it's most likely exposed nerves that are making you hurt so much. 

"He's coming back soon, Y/N, you need to _get up."_

This time you force yourself to open your eyes, the left one barely opening halfway and your right one also covered in the sticky substance. You lift yourself up oh so slowly, inch by inch, your head pounding and complaining the entire time. You feel something drip off your face and onto the ground below, and when you lift your hands to wipe it away you remember that they're still wrapped in duct tape. 

Basement. Marta. Jamie. Kidnapped. Ransom.

_Blanc._

"Marta?" You groan, though your voice is muffled and weak like you're speaking through cotton. You hear a choked sob a few feet away from you. 

"I thought he _killed_ you, Y/N," she says. Your ears are still ringing but you can hear the tears in her voice. "You were quiet for so long--"

"How long?" You ask, and a sharp stabbing sensation runs through the front of your face when you move your mouth. Your eyes water as you take a deep breath in, though that action doesn't help lessen your torture at all. Your nose must be broken. 

"About half an hour," her voice is meek, "after Ransom...after he was done with you he dragged me over to some corner and tied a rope around my ankle. The other end is somewhere on the wall and it's not long enough for me to get to your side."

"Prob--" you groan as you slump back onto the concrete on your back, blinking your eyes as best you can into the darkness. "He probably wants to keep us apart."

"He went back upstairs. He was really angry, Y/N. I heard screaming."

_Jamie._ You already know without having to see it that Ransom was taking the rest of his frustration out on your former client. Ransom isn't dumb--you've always known that--and since you and Marta didn't have your phones, it would only make sense that Jamie would have given you his. 

And as much as you know you have every right to _not_ feel this way, you can't help but worry for Jamie. Ransom is unstable and you wouldn't put it past him to just outright kill the man.

"Jamie."

"Yes," Marta says with sympathy, "it only stopped a little bit ago."

"Shit," you swear under your breath, and it's followed by a wince as a particularly nasty throb moves through your skull. "Blanc and the rest of them will be here soon."

"Y/N," Marta whispers, and you have to turn your head in her direction to hear her better, "I don't think they'll get here in time."

"What?" You ask, not liking the resignation you can sense in her tone. "Why do you say that?"

There's a brief pause, and not for the first time do you wish that you could see your friend in the darkness. "He knows they're coming now. That means he can't draw this out like he wanted to. He's going to do to us whatever it is he has in mind and then leave."

You stay silent, thinking over Marta's words. "Do you really have such little faith in our friends?"

She sniffles. "No, but it's Ransom that I'm worried about."

You hate to admit it, but she's right. You don't have a doubt in your mind that Louie and Joshua and Blanc are racing to get here as fast as they can, but the truth of the matter is that you're at the mercy of someone who has clearly chosen not to care about the repercussions that his actions will bring anymore, and because of that he's unpredictable. 

You wish there was something more in this basement down here that you could use to protect yourself, even to get the duct tape off, but there's nothing. It was empty when it was sold and Ransom never intended to use this house to live in so why would he fill it with stuff?

The two of you fall silent as the door is opened again, and this time the sense of not knowing what's coming next actually makes you shake with fear. The shadow at the top of the steps moves forward and then you both scream as it suddenly falls down the steps and lands in a heap at the bottom. 

You force yourself to sit up and strain your eyes as you try to get a glimpse at whoever it is that just fell down an entire flight of stairs. Another form steps out of the doorway and calmly walks down the stairs--a complete 180 to the previous person. You're not surprised when you see it's Ransom, but your stomach drops when you realize who the other person must be. 

"It's a shame," Ransom sighs as he bends down and grabs Jamie's limp form by the back of his collar before dragging him across the concrete, a dark trail left in his wake, "I really thought this one was smarter than that, but I _guess not."_

He drops Jamie at the same time that he finishes his sentence, and the fact that he doesn't move or make a sound at the mistreatment of his body terrifies you. 

The possibility that Jamie is dead in front of you right now is something that you aren't in a proper place to process. So instead of breaking down even further, you focus on the fact that Ransom is here and that he left the door at the top of the stairs _open._

Are your hands and feet bound? Yes. Does your head feel as thick as crest toothpaste right now? Absolutely. Does that mean you can't think of anything to stop him? You'll find out. 

You won't say this to Marta, but if it comes down to it, you'd rather have Ransom's attention on you than her. You would never forgive yourself if something were to happen to her when you could prevent it. 

"Sorry to keep you two waiting, but I'm glad to see you're awake now." Ransom smiles at you in what someone would think was genuine fashion, except for the circumstances that brought it on. He crouches down and gets a few inches from your face, his smug smile turning your stomach. "I wouldn't want you to miss any of this."

Your sneer at him, and then without a second thought, roughly bring your head forward and crack it against his own. He lets out a grunt and stumbles back until he falls on his ass, one hand covering his face protectively. 

"Fucking _hurts,_ doesn't it?" You say, even though your face aches while doing so. 

His charade of being nice ends and he's now back to scary Ransom, and for just a brief moment you almost regret what you did to anger him. 

_Almost._

But then you catch a glimpse of Marta's face in the little light you're provided with, and it solidifies the choice you've made. The truth is that you don't have an escape plan, but you can at least keep his attention on you long enough that help will arrive for Marta. You owe her that much. 

You just hope that they'll be able to forgive you.

You narrow your eyes at Ransom and take as big a breath as your broken nose will allow. He glares right back as the two of you have a silent showdown. 

"Do your fucking worst," you seethe. Marta gasps behind him and you watch with growing dread as his face splits into one of the most sinister grins you've ever seen. A hint of blood stains his teeth but it doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. 

_"With pleasure."_


	26. A Savior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter should've been out a week ago and for that I'm sorry. Hopefully this makes up for it! 
> 
> Only a few more chapters to go! And then I can finally get some sleep and think of what story I'm going to start next LOL
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos :)))

Time is irrelevant.

Time is a construct. 

Time isn't _real._

All things you've been told through my years on this planet. You've heard it from teachers who knew more than they were being paid for, scientists who just wanted to sound smart, and from the occasional conversation partner. All of them wanting to talk about how time is something that humans made up to help them understand how the world works. 

But you don't think of time like that. 

Time, to you, is something you spend with a loved one. Time is something that you always make sure to spend it in as though it's your last because you know time is precious and you'll never be able to get it back. Time is something that you want to have as much of as possible. 

And right now time is something you're running out of far sooner than you ever thought you would. 

_"Stop!"_

A laugh. A breath. A boot connecting with your midsection. You gasp for air that doesn't seem able to fill your lungs. You curl up further into the fetal position on the cold and unforgiving ground, your left eye now completely swollen shut. A combination of Marta's screams, your cries of pain, and Ransom's self-satisfied chuckles echo throughout the basement. It only took five minutes after he started his physical attacks on you for your cries to become muted as you suffered in silence and another ten minutes before you found yourself retreating into your mind and dissociating from what was happening to you. 

_"Y/N!"_

Vaguely you can make our Marta crying for you, begging for Ransom to stop. He explained to the two of you that he was going to have some fun first and then he was going to get his car loaded and ready for a _long trip._ He had used the hammer on you first, holding your arms out by standing on your hands--and nearly crushing your fingers in the process--before swinging the heavy steel down and breaking the appendage in at least 3 different spots. He only did this assault on the right arm, but it was more than enough for you. You had screamed bloody murder and tried your best not to vomit, but even with all the willpower in the world, you weren't able to stop yourself from emptying your stomach on the ground in front of you. You're just lucky that Ransom didn't follow up on his earlier threat and rub your face in it. 

It's only when Ransom doesn't do something to you for five seconds straight that you notice something is different. You force yourself to come back to the present, prying your right eye open and taking a deep gasping breath. 

That's when you hear it. 

A single creak on the floorboards above you. Under any other circumstance, you wouldn't think twice about it, but this isn't a normal situation. Mainly because everyone is currently down in the basement with you.

_So who's upstairs?_

Ransom looks up at the ceiling slowly, breathing heavily as his shoulders heave from the exertion he was using to hurt you. His scowl deepens, and he mutters to himself under his breath. _"Shit."_

The basement door had been left open when Ransom came down the stairs. the light still streams down from the doorway, and it's in this tiny light that you're able to see a small black object get tossed down the stairs. All of you, including Marta, are silent as you watch it _thump thump thump_ down the steps and roll onto the concrete. It takes less than a second before something in it pops and it starts letting out smoke. 

"Shit!" Ransom exclaims again, this time more desperate and full of panic as the smoke quickly does its job of filling the room. It takes less than a few seconds before the smoke has managed to cover every inch and you're once again covered by a screen of darkness, restricting what little you were able to see before. Suddenly, you feel a grappling at the back of your shirt and you're tugged backward across the floor quickly, further away from the door. 

_"Hugh Drysdale!"_ Relief like you've never felt before flows through you as Lieutenant Elliot's voice is shouted down into the basement. "Get down on the ground now with your hands on top of your head! That's an order!"

"Like hell," you hear Ransom say behind you, and the relief you had felt vanishes as you realize he's dragged you off into the corner with him. You can't see Marta, but guessing from where you had last seen her you're pretty sure she's at the opposite side of the room. "If I'm going out, then you're going with me.

_What?_

There's a period of silence as Louie waits for Ransom to do as he said, but little does he know that Ransom doesn't plan on doing that at all. You suck in a breath, nearly choking on your own blood in the process. Ransom cuts the binding that had kept your ankles together and then hauls you up off the ground and onto your feet, though you struggle to remain standing. He wraps one arm across your shoulders and holds your back firmly to his chest, keeping you in place. You're exhausted, you can't see, your body hurts, and you just want to _give up,_ but the possibility that Blanc might be up there with Louie right now gives you the strength you need to keep your eyes open just a little while longer. 

You see beams of light cut through the smoke. Flashlights. They swing around and you watch as the light gets close enough that you're able to make out a few shapes through the smoke. Other people. 

_Is one of them Blanc?_

Ransom tightens his grip on you to the point of pain. He shuffles backward until you're stopped suddenly, and you can only guess that he's pressed up against one of the walls. 

_If you can just get him to let go, if you can just get to Blanc then you'll be safe--_

And then you remember Jamie. _Jamie._ He's still down here, his body lying on the concrete off to the side. Did the officers find him? Did they check for a pulse? Is he...is he _dead?_ Did you truly watch Ransom throw his dead body down here? 

Just thinking about it makes you want to vomit. 

One of the flashlights stops on the two of you. A sharp whistle cuts through the air and then suddenly more lights are pointed right at you and you have to squint your good eye so you don't get blinded by them. Ransom lines you up perfectly in front of him, blocking as much view of his body with your own as possible. 

"Y/N!" You hear him before you see him. Two officers in full-body gear are shoved aside as Benoit steps forward himself, his gun raised and aimed straight at Ransom, which in turn, means he's aiming at _you._ His face falls and he lowers his weapon immediately, though the two officers behind him don't do the same. 

"Lower your guns," Ransom orders, fingers on your shoulder squeezing nervously, "or I'll kill her."

"Be smart about this, Ransom," Louie says calmly, stepping up to Blanc's left side, "nobody has to die tonight."

Ransom starts laughing, the low sound vibrating next to your ear and sending shivers down your spine. "That's what you think."

Blanc's face twists into one of anger, something you've never seen on him before. His eyes look you up and down from head to toe, taking in every detail. You can see his jaw clench with barely restrained anger, noticing the way his hand twitches on his gun. 

You feel something crawl up your side and then press against your throat. It's cold and sharp and makes you freeze where you stand. The others standing in front of you, Blanc included, all freeze at the sight of the item.

A knife. 

"I didn't make the same mistake as last time," Ransom says sardonically and proceeds to press it against your skin with just the slightest pressure. Even though he barely put any force behind it he still succeeds in knicking the skin, adding to your already long list of injuries. A small drop of blood beads up and trickles down the side of your throat. 

"Mr. Drysdale," Blanc speaks up, his voice low and shaking with restraint, "Miss L/N has done nothin' to warrant this from you. Let her go and we can talk about this--"

"Done _nothing?"_ Ransom actually laughs out loud at that. "You think she's done nothing? That's one of the _biggest_ loads of horseshit I've ever heard you say!"

"Asshole," you cough, taking in a gasping breath. Ransom tightens his grip on you and you see Blanc throw you a pleading look. _Just keep quiet,_ you can practically hear him say, _don't anger him more than he already is._

If only he knew how bad the grudge is that Ransom has against you, if you can even call it that at this point. 

It's no longer a grudge--it's officially intent to murder.

"I must _insist_ that you release her this instant." Blanc's voice dips as his accent comes out thicker than mud. 

"And _I insist_ that you all put down your guns before I cut her fucking head off."

Louie holds up his fist and you watch as slowly all the officers and Blanc lower their weapons to the floor, carefully setting them on the concrete. The sound of it seems to echo throughout the room, ringing in your ears. You feel your dread grow a foot with each source of possible protection that is given up. 

_Pick them up! Pick them up!_

At this point, you're not sure if you care that much if you die. You just want Ransom to be dealt with. You want Marta safe. You don't want anyone else to get hurt by him as you have been.

"Now," Ransom says calmly, a complete contrast to how energetic and shaky he feels against you, "Y/N and I are going upstairs and we're going away, and _you're not going to follow._ If you do, then I'll kill her," he presses the blunt end of the knife to your throat this time, pressing into the skin as a warning, "quick as that."

"Okay," Louie says, staring straight at Ransom, "okay."

Ransom hesitates, as though he doesn't quite believe that the Lieutenant is willing to give up just like that, and you have to admit that you find it hard to believe too, but then after another few seconds, he starts pushing you forward slowly. He turns as he walks, making sure to keep you clutched in front of him, stationing you between him and the other officers the entire time. You struggle to keep up with him, your feet dragging along on the ground and threatening to trip you the entire time. 

He starts dragging you up the stairs backward. The others watch you, Blanc's eyes staring at you every second you're in sight of each other. You want so desperately to run over to him, to fall into his embrace that's become your source of comfort this past couple of weeks, but you can't do that now. He's so close and yet _so far._

The two of you finally reach the top of the steps and looking down into the basement from this angle, you can see the faces of almost every person down there. There are more officers than you originally thought down there, but it's the one with the bright blue eyes that you stare at. 

_I'm sorry,_ you try to convey as best you can without actually speaking, and telling by the way his expression hardens, you know he understands you. 

Ransom stops at the top of the doorway, and you don't have to look at him to know he's grinning triumphantly. "I would say it's been a pleasure, but that would be a complete lie." 

And then something that _none_ of you were expecting happens. 

Just as Ransom shuts the door to the basement and locks it, another person surprises him from behind throws the two of you forward into the wood. You slam against the door and crumple to the ground as Ransom's arms that were holding you up on your feet officially slip away to try to fight the unknown attacker. There's no stopping the cry of pain you let out when you land on your broken arm on the floor. You crack open your eye and take in the tiny kitchen that you've just walked into and proceed to watch with shock as _Jamie_ picks up the knife that Ransom apparently dropped and shoves it into the latter's shoulder.

_He's alive! Jamie's alive!_

Your former client looks like he's knocking on death's door, but he still manages to stand on his own two shaky feet and gather enough strength to try to stop Ransom one last time. 

Ransom's eyes widen in surprise as he glances down at his own weapon sticking out from his body. You push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain the simple movement brings, but unable to tear your eyes away from what's happening in front of you. 

"You..." Ransom says, his breath barely above a whisper, "you actually did it. You actually had the _balls_ to do it."

Jamie heaves a deep breath, and you can tell just by looking at him that he's trying not to vomit. Ransom really did a number on him when he found out that he gave you and Marta his phone. Jamie's hands are swollen, mangled, and stained red with blood. There are similar marks over his clothes and on his face, but the busted lip, broken nose, and bleeding eye really give you an idea of what it is that he went through. There's also a trail leading down from his hairline to his jaw that might have been caused by him hitting his head when he was pushed down the stairs, but it's hard to tell what was caused by Ransom and what wasn't. 

Jamie swallows nervously as Ransom reaches one hand up to the knife in his shoulder. He grits his teeth as he grips the handle and quickly yanks it out of where it had been stuck in his shoulder, his face briefly showing the pain that such an act would bring, but quickly composes himself once more. The end of the blade drips red blood onto the ground and a spot begins to spread on Ransom's shirt. Ransom runs a hand through his unruly hair, pushing the strands out of his face and trying to compose himself once more, though you can see the glint in his eye that betrays just how much he's truly losing himself in this moment. 

The police showed up sooner than he was expecting, he's panicking, and now he's just been stabbed. If you had thought him unpredictable before, you truly have no idea what someone as desperate as him in his position is going to do now. 

But Jamie doesn't care about that.

Jamie looks over to the tiny table in the kitchen and hesitates before picking up one of the beaten and old chairs sitting off to the side. He winces as he wraps his bad hands around it but then moves faster than you would have thought possible and attacks Ransom. You can tell Ransom also wasn't expecting the attack so soon because he fumbles with the knife for a moment before he crouches and braces himself for impact. 

Jamie rams the legs of the chair into Ransom's chest and manages to push the man violently against the wall, momentarily stunning him, though he's quick to recover. He lets out a growl and shoves backward, pushing Jamie off balance and swatting the chair to the side. One of the legs breaks off as it crashes to the floor and at the same time Ransom is swooping in with a football maneuver, wrapping his arms around Jamie's midsection and tackling him to the kitchen floor. Jamie cries out as his back collides with the tile, and you watch Ransom wrap one hand around his throat as the other reaches for the knife. 

_No,_ you watch with horror, already seeing what Ransom has in mind, _I have to stop him!_ Jamie may have been helped you get in this situation in the first place, but he's risking his life for yours right now. You won't let Ransom do this.

You force yourself forward and onto your knees, rushing as fast as possible and throwing yourself on Ransom's back. Ransom momentarily forgets about Jamie and instead snarls at you over his shoulder. He forgets the knife and palms your face, using a large amount of momentum to throw you off of him and onto your back on the floor. He climbs off Jamie, giving the man a moment to gasp for breath, and grabs the collar of your shirt before roughly tossing you against the basement door. Once more you fall to the ground, too weak to pick yourself up a second time. 

"I mean, _Jesus,_ you would think you'd know better by now than to test me." Ransom crouches down in front of your face, tilting his head as he studies you, panting the whole time. "At one point in time this whole thing would have been a major turn-on for me--especially coming from _you--_ but now it's just _annoying."_

Ransom stands and grabs one of your ankles and starts dragging you away from the basement door and towards the living room, but once again you're stunned as Jamie crawls forward and pulls your captor's leg out from under him. He falls to the ground with a large _thud_ and drops his hold on you. Jamie scrambles to get on top of him and starts punching him, and though Jamie and Ransom are roughly the same in size, Ransom has more strength than Jamie does. And, unfortunately, this doesn't work in your favor. 

Ransom easily overpowers Jamie and rolls so that _he's_ on top instead, once more assuming the same position as before. He wraps both hands around his throat and squeezes, the veins on his neck standing out as he puts every bit of strength he has into the act. You find yourself screaming, beseeching Ransom to _stop_ and _let him go,_ but your pleas fall on deaf ears. If only you had the strength to stop Ransom! You watch Jamie's face turns red, then purple, and then he lies still, his hands falling limp at his sides. 

The door to the basement suddenly bursts open and Blanc stumbles into the open, wide eyes taking in the situation in front of him. You have tears streaming down your face and Ransom looks at the Detective with fire in his eyes. 

"Blanc!" Your calling of his name momentarily gains his attention. He takes in your appearance in the full light, and if you had thought that Blanc was angry before, he looks downright _apoplectic_ now. You look back to Ransom and Jamie, tears streaming down your face. "He's killing him!"

Blanc doesn't give Ransom a chance to even _think_ of reaching for the knife before he's running at him and tackling him to the ground just as he did to Jamie minutes earlier. Though Ransom has a couple of inches on Blanc, he's no match for the strength that pure anger can give a man when he needs it. Ransom tries to fight back, but from the stab wound and already having used a lot of his energy fighting Jamie, it's clear who the winner is going to be. 

Blanc doesn't hold back as he pins Ransom to the ground and pulls his fist back, delivering quick and powerful blows to the psychopath's face. In a matter of seconds, there's fresh blood on Ransom's face and Blanc's knuckles, but he's not stopping. It's as if some unseen force has decided to take over and has decided that Ransom hasn't received due justice yet. 

Louie and a few other officers quickly run into the kitchen as well, stopping and assessing the situation in front of you. Louie looks at Blanc briefly before zeroing in on you, a look of relief on his face. He turns to the other two officers. 

"Separate those two and get Mr. Drysdale into custody, now. One of you call for an ambulance." He glances down at Jamie's body, still and unmoving on the ground. His face falls. "Make that two."

Louie moves quickly to your side and crouches down, reaching forward gently. You shy away for just a brief second before reminding yourself that Louie is a _friend_ and won't hurt you. You can tell by the way his face falls that he noticed your little lapse, even though you tried to hide it. 

"Mar--" you inhale deeply, swallowing down the tears that haven't been shed yet, "Marta is down there. She's still down there--"

Louie holds up a hand and effectively stops you from rambling. "She's taken care of, Y/N. She's safe now."

He looks over his shoulder at Blanc who is still going to town on Ransom, even though the other two officers are trying to get the man's attention. 

"Blanc," Louie calls, but it doesn't deter the man's objective. Ransom isn't moving at this point. 

You can't take this anymore. You want this to end, you want this all to be _over._

"Benoit," you sob, and just like that, he stops. He sits up and turns immediately in your direction, chest heaving for air and jaw tightly clenched. He doesn't give a backward glance as he rises and moves swiftly to your side, Louie silently moving out of the way to let him take his place. Ransom doesn't move. 

"Sweetheart," Blanc's soothing voice breaks the glass that you had been viewing everything through and shatters it into a million pieces. You lean forward, resting your head on his chest and losing yourself in his hold. He sinks onto the floor and cradles the back of your head against his chest, his other one carefully wrapping around your back and tugging you into his lap. You move freely, too tired and achy to protest the move. You remain there, resting into his shoulder, as Louie delicately takes your hands and starts removing the tape that binds them together. 

Your tears quickly soak through his shirt though he doesn't say a single word on the subject. Once your hands are free you drop them into your lap, trying your best not to move your right arm too much. 

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs into your hair, pressing his lips there as though he's trying to heal you with his kisses, "I should've been there. I'm sorry, Sweetheart."

"Please," you hiccup, "don't. Don't apologize. I-I can't take that from you right now."

You open your good eye and look over to where Jamie is still lying on the floor. "He-he saved me, Blanc. Is...is he--"

"Shh," Blanc shushes you, "don't worry about that right now." You feel his hand gently wipe away some of the blood from your face and you wince, unintentionally flinching away from his touch. Blanc freezes and his hand hovers over your skin, no longer touching you. He turns to the Lieutenant, his face hard once more. "Where is that ambulance?"

Louie purses his lips but keeps his voice soft for your benefit. "They're coming as fast as they can, Benny."

Blanc doesn't say anything more but it doesn't take a genius to see he isn't pleased with that response. He focuses back on you and starts looking over the rest of your body now that your hands are no longer duct-taped together. His fingers are as light as a feather as he brushes the hair out of your face and then proceeds to trail them down your shoulder to your broken arm. You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes, simultaneously soothed by the touch and also trying not to cry out at the pain that something as simple as that brings. 

A commotion of running footsteps makes all of you look up to the entrance of the kitchen where Trooper Moore and a few other officers run inside, guns drawn and ready. Joshua looks around wildly, lowering his gun only slightly as he notices the threat is already dealt with. "Where is she?"

"Downstairs." Louie nods his head towards the basement door. "But, Trooper Moore, she--"

Joshua doesn't even give him a chance to finish his sentence before he's bolting down the steps, disappearing into the darkness. Two officers follow him while the others move over to converse with those who remained upstairs. 

You feel tired, _exhausted,_ and you know that if you were to fall asleep then you wouldn't feel such pain like you do now. Blanc is here, he's holding you in his arms, and you're finally safe. It's over. Ransom can't hurt you anymore, and he can't get to Marta. You close your eyes and let out a large breath, sagging in Blanc's hold. 

"No, no," Blanc tries his best to keep his voice level but there's just the tiniest hint of panic in there, "you can't sleep yet, Y/N. You have to wait until the doctors have said it's okay."

"I'm a doctor," you mumble, not doing as he said and refusing to open your eyes, "and I say it's okay. I'm just tired, Benoit."

"Sweetheart, you can't sleep." You don't respond, already feeling the welcoming tug of blackness beginning to drag you under. "Wake up. Y/N?"

Even if you had the strength to force yourself to wake up right now, you're not sure you would want to. The pain from Ransom's work on your body recedes to the back of your mind and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel nothing. 

"You told me you loved me," he murmurs, resting his forehead against your own, "I love you, Y/N. You can't leave me now that I've found you."

_I love you too, Benoit._

And then you fade away.


	27. A New Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to post this--I've been so busy what with classes and working 2 jobs now that I barely have any time to write. I love this story but I'll be so happy once it's done LOL
> 
> Thank you guys again for being patient and bearing with me!

The sound is what draws you out of your sleep. 

It's not a chirping of birds, it's not laughter or conversation, it's not even a beeping sound. Instead, you're awoken by a steady compression of air that pumps into your nose every five seconds, making sure that even in your unconscious state you're still getting enough oxygen. 

You crack your eyes open to a dark room, though not nearly as dark as the basement was that Ransom kept you in. That's the only thing that stops you from panicking as soon as you wake up. The little light you're able to get in this room allows you to see almost everything while still being dim enough that you're aware it's sometime in the middle of the night. You look down and once you see the sleeve on your left arm that protects the IV connected there you become aware of the metal pierced into your skin. You look at your hand and find a heart monitor attached to your finger as well. 

On the other side of your body, your right arm is in a white cast and rests gently along your side on the bed. As you wake up you feel some pain begin to come to the forefront of your mind and you wince, but the action only brings more discomfort as it tugs at the bandages and nasal cannula. You blink away the tears that well up from the sting on your face, and when you gently prod at the area with your left hand you find a giant bandage over the bridge of your nose. 

"Y/N?" 

You look over to your left and to your surprise you see Marta sitting in a chair with her phone in her hand, though she quickly locks it and pushes it to the side when she notices you waking up. She's wearing a pair of leggings and a sweater, her hair is thrown in a haphazard ponytail and there are bags under her eyes, but she otherwise looks unharmed to you. 

And that alone nearly makes you weep. 

"Marta," you croak, blinking in surprise at the way your voice sounds. Your friend frowns at you and stands quickly, moving to your side to gently brush some hair away from your face. Her eyes flit across the bed to your other side briefly before she focuses on you once more. 

"I'm going to get one of the nurses and see if they can get you something to drink. You must be thirsty."

And you  _ are. _ You know your voice sounds bad but until Marta had said something about it you hadn't really noticed just how dry your throat feels. That sudden realization also brings with it a new wave of pain that makes you groan softly and twist as best as you can on the bed in an effort to alleviate the ache. 

Her frown deepens. "And I'll ask about some more pain medicine."

She walks around the side of the bed but instead of heading for the door, she walks over to something you hadn't noticed when you first woke up. 

There, on the right and resting what looks like very uncomfortably in a chair just like the one Marta had been in just moments ago, is a sleeping Benoit Blanc. His head is resting on his hand that's propped up with the armrest of the chair, but you can already tell that he's going to have an awful crick in his neck when he finally moves it. His eyes are closed and he's breathing softly through his nose, so quiet that you're not surprised you never noticed him. 

Marta stops at his side and briefly glances at you before reaching out a hand and carefully shaking his shoulder in an effort to rouse him from his sleep. He jolts awake, his eyes still glazed even as he sits up in his chair and looks up at Marta. He obviously hadn't been getting sleep and you can tell that this must have been the first time he's gotten any in a while. 

"What is it?" He rubs a hand over his face and forces himself to wake up more. Marta smiles at him softly. 

"She's awake."

Immediately his eyes cut over to you, and the two of you just stare at each other. Because he's  _ here. _ He's really here.

He inhales sharply and vaguely you notice Marta slipping out of the room as Blanc scoots his chair forward and cradles your right hand between his own. He closes his eyes and leans down to press his kiss to your knuckles, sighing as he rests his forehead on your hand. 

"Finally," he murmurs, tilting his head up enough that he can look at you properly. His eyes are shining and there's a scruff growing on his face that wasn't there the last time you saw him, but other than that he looks like always does. He looks like your detective. 

"I was so, _ so _ worried about you," there's a pain in his voice, "I'm still worried. You took your time wakin' up."

You frown. You swallow, though the action is hard considering how parched you are. "How long?"

Blanc's mouth twitches when he hears you speak. "You were in surgery for quite a few hours. They let you sleep for a while, the medicine they gave you was quite strong." His face pinches. "But they said you would wake up  _ yesterday. _ We've all been waitin', some of us more patient than the others."

You process his words. You've been asleep for, what, two days? Three? How long ago was it that you and Marta were locked in Ransom's basement?

"Y/N," Blanc whispers your name and once more gains your attention, pushing your list of questions to the back of your mind for now, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get to ya sooner, Sweetheart."

You make a noise of protest as you sit up, both from his words and from the movement. He moves instantly, hands hovering over your body and ready to help when needed, but you only moved yourself a few centimeters, so though his offer is appreciated it's unnecessary. 

"It's coming back slowly," you pause to clear your throat, "but I do remember telling you not to apologize to me."

That earns you a weak but relieved chuckle. "I won't argue with you on it now, not before I know you can truly tell me your thoughts on the subject."

You smile at him. "Thank you."

There's a light knocking on the door and though Blanc does sit up a little straighter in his seat he doesn't release your hand. The two of you look over to see a tall woman step into the room, a gentle smile on her face. She's a few years older than you with dark brown hair and glasses. She's wearing a white coat with a stethoscope resting around her shoulders. Marta walks in behind her, looking between the two of you almost expectantly. 

"Hi," the doctor says quietly, "my name is Dr. Harris, and I've been the one treating you. How are you feeling?"

You hide your grimace behind a pathetic attempt at a smile. "I've been better."

She gives you a sympathetic look. "I don't doubt that. A nurse will be in shortly to give you more pain medication. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions now that you're awake? I'll try to keep it short so that you don't strain yourself."

You nod your agreement and she goes to the end of your bed before picking up your clipboard and flipping through the pages there. 

"Your right arm was broken in four different spots and required surgery. There's severe bruising on your ribs and I was surprised none of them were broken. Your nose, on the other hand, also required surgery. It was..." she hesitates, and you can see her swallowing, "...it had multiple contusions and several fractures. Your airway is going to be thin for a while from swelling so breathe through your mouth as often as you can. At least until the swelling goes down."

Throughout Dr. Harris's announcement of your injuries, you could feel Blanc's hand tighten ever so slowly with each new thing that was said. Surprisingly you find yourself completely calm about all of it, and you do your best to comfort  _ him _ instead. You squeeze his hand in the assurance that you're okay now. 

"We did a CT scan because there was swelling on your frontal bone. Thankfully it didn't show any bleeding, but I'm going to ask some questions just to make sure there was no lasting damage. What's your name?"

You take a breath in through your mouth. "Y/N L/N."

"How old are you?"

You answer that one just as easily. 

She smiles at that. "Those are easy ones, I know. Do you know what today's date is?"

You frown, shaking your head. She purses her lips but doesn't make a note about it. 

"I'll let that one slide because you've been asleep for a while." She lowers her voice to a level as if she was talking to a crying child who needs soothing. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

A pause. Marta stiffens where she's standing in the corner and Blanc's hand tightens even more than you thought possible. You actually wince from the grip and he immediately lets go, a painfully apologetic look in his eye. You give him one in return to let him know you understand and you're not upset before once more stretching your fingers towards him. He takes them again but this time much more delicately.

"I do," you look down to where your fingers are laced and draw strength from it. "I remember all of it."

Dr. Harris nods and writes something down on the clipboard. "Do you remember what you were doing before the incident?"

_ Incident. _ Calling the kidnapping and attempted murder something so... _ meek _ as that leaves a bad taste in your mouth but you know she's just being sensitive for your benefit so you let it pass. 

"I was at the manor with Marta. We went to my office to help...to..."

Your eyes widen as you remember Jamie. You inhale sharply and look over to Blanc immediately, begging him to tell you with your eyes. He already knows what you were going to ask, but it's the sadness on his face that undoes you.

You choke on your sob, unable to get the sound out properly thanks to the cannula in your nose. You close your eyes and sink into your pillow as tears start to stream out of your eyes and down the sides of your cheeks.

_ Jamie. Jamie's dead, he's really dead this time. _

The first time you had thought Jamie dead, he came back in life just to sacrifice his life for your own and save you from Ransom. But this time he was unable to save himself from Ransom's attacks, and you were unable to stop the man from killing him. 

Another person enters the room and absently you notice it's the nurse but you're unable to stop your breakdown. Blanc scoots his chair right up until he's alongside the bed and strokes your cheeks with his free hand softly, murmuring words of comfort as he watches you mourn someone you had been through more with than the average person ever would. Were you and Jamie friends? It would have been unprofessional to consider yourselves such, but you had known the young man for so long and helped him with so many problems that it was impossible to stop the affection you felt for him completely. 

You feel a rush of something cool briefly go through the IV and then it's gone. You open your eyes and through your blurry vision, you're able to make out an older woman as she finishes plunging something into the tube connected to your arm. Immediately you feel grogginess seep into your bones and you sniffle, trying to fight it off because you want to stay  _ awake, _ dammit! You look to Blanc, pleading with him to help you stay awake so you can find out more about Jamie, find out where Ransom is, get some  _ answers, _ but he simply looks at you sadly and brushes the hair away from your face tenderly. 

"I'll be here when you wake up," he leans forward and whispers into your ear before kissing your cheek. And then you're asleep. 

* * *

The second time coming back to consciousness is a lot more agreeable. There are lights, you're able to tell that immediately by the shine through your eyelids, but they're dimmed so that they don't irritate you. You're not in as much pain as you were when you woke up before. You smell coffee, toast, and some sort of breakfast sandwich, the scents strong even through the multiple layers of gauze covering your nose right now. 

"Mornin', Sweetheart," a southern drawl greets you. You blink your eyes open, take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting, and then turn to the side where the voice came from. Blanc is holding a wrapped sandwich from some fast-food restaurant in his hand and you notice a matching logo from the wrapper also on the cup of coffee sitting to the side. He looks cleaner than he did the last time you saw him. His hair is neatly combed and he has a fresh pair of pants and a new button-up shirt on, almost free of wrinkles. "How're you feelin'?"

You let out a large breath through your parted lips, watching him. Judging by the look he gives you he knows you're feeling pretty out of it. 

"I'm glad to see you awake again."

"I thought he was going to start yelling at the doctor." Marta's voice chimes in from the other side. You glance at her, noting her new outfit of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt with an array of multicolored leaves stamped on it. "That nurse gave you too much medication, Y/N."

Blanc sputters. "I would never yell at a trained medical professional."

You turn back over and give him a teasing smile. He looks away from Marta and focuses back on you, some of the tension that had been in the corners of his eyes melting away as a hint of a grin curls on his lips. You lick your dry lips before speaking. "I have evidence that that's a lie."

Marta giggles on the other side as Blanc full-on smiles at that. "That's true, Y/N has always been good at telling when people are lying."

Blanc shakes his head good-naturedly and sets his sandwich off to the side with his coffee before leaning forward and kissing your forehead softly, his lips lingering against your skin as if he craves any bit of connection with you that he can get. 

"Of course," he sits back down in his chair, considerably closer than he was before as he takes your right hand in his own and caresses the back of your knuckles, "how silly of me to have forgotten."

You look down at your hands for a moment, watching the way his hand cradles your own and holds it. Your broken arm rests halfway on your chest and though there's a dull throb there, the pain is so minuscule thanks to the good drugs that you barely even notice it. 

"Time?" You ask, not looking away from your hands. 

"Just after ten," Marta answers, and then almost reluctantly she adds, "today would have been the court date."

Your eyes jerk up at her at that, as though you're going to find her just joking with you. But judging by the way her lips are pursed you can tell that it's no joke. 

The court date would have been today. 

You look over to Blanc slowly. "It's been 3 days?

He glances down briefly as though thinking of a way to answer your question before he looks at you again. He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand in reassurance. "That is...true, Y/N."

You want to sit up, you feel like you need to be in order to have this conversation, but any movement right now is nearly impossible with how you're feeling. The medicine is helping with your arm but you're also not moving it, which seems to be playing a large role in your lack of pain. 

"Just hold on, Darlin', take it easy," he says soothingly, a furrow appearing between his brow as he guides you to settle against the pillows once more, "the nurse last night gave you that medicine because your blood pressure was too high. You need to stay calm or we won't talk about this."

You can't help the flash of irritation that runs through you. "Choose better words, Blanc. You should never tell a woman to calm down."

Blanc actually laughs out loud at that, and it eases some of your frustration enough that you allow him to tuck you back into the blankets. "It seems my mama should've been more firm with me on that lesson."

"Yes, she should've."

"Do you want me to get you some water?" Marta asks, and you notice her frowning at you. "Your voice still sounds terrible, Y/N."

It does still feel gross and scratchy, so you nod and the two of you watch as she walks out of the room, leaving you alone.

"I need to say somethin'," he's the first to break the silence, and you give him your undivided attention, "now that we're alone. I can't wait to say it til we're in a better place because, quite honestly, I don't want to wait."

You watch him curiously, clueless as to what it is he could have to say to you that he would think of waiting until you were alone. He watches you for a few moments, and you think that in this moment, his blue eyes have never looked more beautiful to you. 

"I was so angry, Y/N, when I found out what you had done." He says it heavily, as though it's hard for him to admit this to you. "I realized that I had no right to tell you not to go into the office that night, not without me, but I was so worried. And the news about what Ransom had done had shaken me and all I could think of was keepin' you somewhere I knew you'd be safe, and in the process I nearly got you killed."

If you had been taking a drink you would have choked on it. You blink at him, stunned by his words. "Blanc--"

"No," he interrupts with a firm shake of his head, "if I had gone with you then he wouldn't have been able to...to take you. He wouldn't have had the chance to do all those  _ horrible _ things, threaten you,  _ hurt _ you if I had just--"

"Benoit," you say quietly but firmly, cutting off his guilt trip, "stop. Now."

He looks at you almost hopelessly. "Don't tell me it isn't true, Y/N, because we both know it is."

You take a few seconds to think over his words. "Okay. Say it is true. But then what about me?"

Now he's the one caught off guard. "What?"

"I did this practically to myself."

He shakes his head vehemently. "Now, let's not twist this--"

"No, no," you argue, "I went there after you told me it wasn't safe. I went in,  _ unarmed, _ and then I purposely instigated Ransom so that he wouldn't...so he..." 

Your mind jumps back to flashes of memories of Ransom taking his anger out on you. Him smashing your face into the floor. Breaking your arm. Kicking. Punching. Pain. So much pain. 

"Hey," Blanc's voice is once more low and quiet just for you, "I see the point you're makin', and valiant as it may be, I'll still be taking the blame on this."

"We both will," you insist with a pained sniffle as you try to keep your emotions in check. You shove the bad memories that are bound to plague your dreams eventually to the back of your mind and decide to deal with those another day. 

He lets out an exasperated yet humorous sigh. "As you wish."

He's not caving, not really, he just doesn't want to argue with you on it and you can tell. But his wording makes you smile as it brings back more pleasant thoughts. 

"I love the Princess Bride."

"Truly?" He raises a brow, happy to change the subject to something more light in tone. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly before locking with your own once more. The adoration you see there makes your heart skip a beat. "Well then I must have you know,  _ I love you, _ Princess Buttercup."

Your breath hitches in your throat. You vaguely remember Blanc saying it in the kitchen of that house just before you fell unconscious, but hearing him say it now, after everything the two of you have gone through, now that you're safe and on the mend and he's here by your side, just makes it sound all that more real to you. 

You force the tears down that threaten to fall. "I love you too, Farmboy."

He chuckles lowly, and then no longer able to hold himself back, he leans forward and presses his lips to your own. You're sure you look awful, covered in bandages and bruises and all sorts of injuries, but he doesn't seem to mind any of them as he loses himself in the kiss and lets out all the pent-up worry and longing that had been building inside. You're more than happy to do the same right back. 

"I have water," Marta's soft voice cuts into the moment, and when Blanc sits back down in his chair you take a small inhale of lost air. You're sure you have a dopey grin on your face that is less conspicuous than his own, but Marta is smart and would have been able to figure it out anyway had she not walked in on the two of you kissing. "The doctor said you're allowed to have small sips, not too much."

While she fills a glass with a pitcher of water, Blanc very carefully helps you sit up a little more than you were before, his mouth twitching every time you wince at a sudden jolt of pain. Once you're situated you gratefully accept her help of drinking some water since your hands are too shaky and weak to hold it on your own at the moment. Once you've had about a third of the glass your mouth and throat feel one hundred times better than it did before and you relax into the mattress with a sigh. 

"Now," you say, bracing yourself for what's to come as Marta and Blanc both look to you expectantly, "tell me where he is."


	28. A Clarification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAYYYYY
> 
> This past Monday was my birthday and so I had my party this past weekend so I had close to zero time to write woohoo. 
> 
> This chapter is NOT the last chapter, only a few left to go but the ending sounded a little ~finishy~ to me so I just want to reassure you it's NOT that lol I'll give you a heads up before that happens (we still gotta get to that part that makes this story Mature (if you know what I mean *wink wink nudge nudge*))
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos guys :)

The things they told you didn't make you feel better. 

In fact it actually took over a day to get the whole story from them. The nurse who gave you the medicine the day before walked in when they were in the middle of the explanation and scolded them for even thinking it was okay to lay that on you right now. You made them promise to tell you more later, even though you knew it wouldn't be good. 

And they did tell you. 

And it was worse than you thought. 

Ransom was working with Jamie during his time in jail. Somehow he managed to get in contact with your client and convince him to work for him. He promised obscene amounts of money for some deeds that 'wouldn't get anyone hurt', and he provided proof of the money by selling his house and his beemer. It explained why he didn't go there after he posted bail. Apparently he sold his house and then used the money to get out, and in the meantime while he was waiting for the sale to be finalized he had Jamie trash an apartment at a certain address, leave a threatening message, and then a few days later do the same thing with a blue beetle with a specific license plate. According to the lawyers, Jamie was reluctant to do so, but Mr. Drysdale still managed to convince him to do so. 

Once Ransom posted bail and went down to one of his mother's houses, it was there he plotted the rest of his plan. Richard checked in a few times, trying to speak with him about what his plan was with his lawyers and if it was possible to _bribe them with money,_ but Ransom showed no interest in trying to clear his name. He rarely talked to his father, in fact. His mother never reached out to him. He had Jamie do most of his dirty work for him, from buying a more conspicuous car and also purchasing a small house that had just recently gone on the market, all with the money he made from selling his own things. Jamie had no idea what he was getting into. 

Ransom acted on his plan four days ago, making Jamie go to your work place and request you to show up before he went out and pretended he had stabbed himself in front of the police officers that he had been aware were there the whole time. He fought the two of them and managed to get a few good swipes in on them with his knife. His own father wasn't in on the plan and Ransom locked him in the trunk of the officer's car before leaving them to bleed out on the ground. He drove to the clinic and after coercing the receptionist into letting the him and Jamie i in to wait for you, he knocked her out and left her behind the front desk. You had been concerned for Theresa when you heard that, but Blanc was quick to reassure you that besides a nasty headache the older woman was doing just fine recovering at home. 

Ransom managed to keep you and Marta in the basement of the house he bought for just under a few hours before Louie and Blanc got there. Jamie had disappeared when they showed up and apparently crawled up the stairs, which explains how he got the jump on Ransom when he took you with him in an effort to get out of the house. Nobody was sure what his plan was going to be after he got out of the house, but you know it wasn't anything good. 

And then, with Blanc holding your hand softly but tight enough to ground you, he tells you how Jamie died. The combination of the injuries he suffered at Ransom's hand and the asphyxiation were too much. Tears stream down the sides of your face as you cry for someone that had at one point been such a large part of your life. 

"How?" You sniffle, looking between Blanc and Marta. "How do you know all this? It doesn't sound like Ransom to be forthcoming with this information."

Blanc's lips thin. "He's not. He's lawyered up again. However, after the stunt he pulled with his own father I'm pleased to say that both mother _and_ father have now cut off their ties with him. Ransom is alone in this battle."

"Y/N," Marta gently says your name, "did you know Jamie kept a journal?"

You blink at her. "He did?"

She nods. "The police found it in his apartment. It was hidden somewhere in his room. He apparently wrote about all of this, from when he first met Ransom to the day before the attack. Richard filled in the details for what happened between Ransom and the two police officers."

You frown, trying to remember if there had ever been a time when Jamie told you that he wrote about what was going on in his life. You can't recall anything, but then something does come to mind. 

"I...When I first started treating Jamie for his anxiety, I told him maybe writing some of his thoughts down so he could look at them later and think of different ways to handle the situation if it ever happens again might be beneficial for him. He didn't seem too interested in the idea so I didn't push it. I didn't know he actually started doing it."

"That wasn't the only journal," Blanc adds, "just the most important one. There were two others that were also found, all filled and dating back quite some time ago."

You sink back into the pillows of your hospital bed. _Jamie listened to what you had to say._ You knew that Jamie would listen to your advice, but you never pushed a client on something like that because you didn't want someone to feel forced to try something new. 

And it turns out that Jamie had been doing as you said this whole time. 

"Can they use that?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You feel guilty asking something like that. You want to take the question back as soon as it leaves your mouth. Your face burns and you shake your head. Someone close to you was just horrendously _murdered,_ and you're wondering if his journal can be used as evidence? What's wrong with you? "Forget I said anything."

"Hey," Blanc frowns at you, lifting his head and using his finger to gently turn your chin towards him, "it's a simple question. Ain't nothin' wrong with it."

"That was incredibly impersonal of me."

"No," he shakes his head and dismisses you words, "impersonal would be if you didn't care at all what happened to young Jamie and dismissed his death. It's clear to anyone who takes the time to look that you cared for him. The difference now is that Jamie no longer has to worry about this--but you do. Asking if his journal can help you is a good question to ask."

You feel a little better about his words, but the guilt is still there. So much is happening so fast and you're just feeling overwhelmed. 

"What about the court date?" You change the subject. Blanc graciously accepts it but judging by the look he gives you he won't forget what you said. 

"It's postponed for the time being until you and Ransom are well enough to attend the session."

You frown. "How long will that take?"

You feel him look you over from head to toe, his eyes pinching at the corners. "I don't plan on rushing your recovery, Sweetheart."

"Blanc," you sigh, "I'll be able to go to court in a few weeks. Two at most."

"I'm afraid it's going to be a little longer than two weeks."

"Why?"

Marta coughs over in the corner. You give her a questioning look as Blanc sheepishly leans back in his chair. They're hiding something, you can tell. 

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Ransom is going to be recovering for more than two weeks."

You narrow your eyes. "How do you know?"

"Lieutenant Elliot told us that he hasn't woken up yet for questioning."

Your mouth drops open in shock. "What?"

Marta studies her hands for a few moments, her eyes cutting over to Blanc every few seconds. You turn to him, waiting for an explanation. The man is studying his hands, which now that you _really_ look at them, you notice tiny cuts and scrapes, and how there are darker spots across the knuckles. Then you remember how hard Blanc was hitting Ransom when he knocked him off of Jamie, and it's a little less surprsing that he's in such a state. 

"Benoit," you say softly, and immediately he looks at you, "why hasn't he woken up?"

"Well," he clears his throat, almost nervously, "it seems that Mr. Drysdale is in a medically-induced coma until the swelling on his brain goes down."

"Holy shit," you breathe, shocked. 

"He's responsive, it's just a matter of waiting for him to get to a point that the doctor's can pull him out," and then, under his breath and so low that you almost miss it, he adds, "unfortunately."

"Is that...is that because of what you did?"

Blanc nods, his features hardening. "It may not be right, but I don't regret what I did, Y/N. I'd do it again and even worse if I got the chance."

"Which is why Ransom's room is restricted access only," Lieutenant Elliot walks in at that moment. He gives the three of you a tight-lipped smile as he closes the door behind him. "The media got word of what the famous Drysdale did and now they're swarming the hospital. They're not allowed in, but everyone wants to know what happened and what's going to happen next."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. "They're nothing but vultures."

"How are you doing?" He asks, coming to stand beside Blanc's chair. He shoves his hands in his suit pockets as he fixes his attention on you. He didn't come for a social call, that much is obvious to you.

"Could be worse," you murmur, "could be dead."

Blanc clears his throat at your side. "We're not going to dwell on that." He looks up at Louie and you feel another flash of guilt. You were just trying to make a joke and you should've known that it's far too soon to joke about something like that. God, what is wrong with you? Why do you keep saying all the wrong things?

"Right," Louie accepts the change of subject, "I'm here to check in. I'm afraid I just need to ask you a couple of questions and then I can get out of your hair."

You slump in your mattress. "It can't wait?"

"Surely you can put this off another few days, Lieutenant?" Blanc frowns at his friend, and judging by the way he addressed him as 'lieutenant', you can tell he's just as unhappy about the questioning as you are.

Louie lifts his hands up in surrender. "I've already questioned Miss Cabrera, and I've waited as long as I could to question Y/N. Would you rather I ask her or someone else do it?"

Blanc still doesn't seem pleased but he doesn't argue any further. You decide to step in and alleviate some of the tension rising between the two. 

"It's fine," you wave Louie over, "I'll answer your questions."

He eyes Blanc cautiously for a moment before dragging a chair to the side of the bed that had been sitting in the corner. He sits down and pulls out his phone, hesitating briefly. "Ben, are you sure you want to be here for this?"

Blanc stares at his friend for a few moments before looking to you. "I want to hear this."

You swallow but nod, knowing that he would find out what happened at some point anyway, so it might as well be done like a bandaid and get it over with as soon as possible.

Louie puts his phone on your bed and presses the record button before nodding at you. "Lieutenant Louie Elliot sitting here with Dr. Y/N L/N, Marta Cabrera, and Detective Benoit Blanc. Dr. L/N, do you consent to being questioned at this time?"

A deep breath in for courage and a soft smile from Blanc for reassurance is all it takes to soothe your nerves. You nod. "I do."

* * *

It goes just about as well as you expected it to. Reliving the memories is hard, especially since they're so fresh for you. Louie, bless his soul, is patient as ever and calmly waits for you to get your sentences out. Marta is there to fill in when it's just too hard to get the words out. 

Blanc sits quietly during the whole questioning process, and you think you'd have liked it more if he spoke and simply expressed how he was feeling instead. Blanc observes, you're used to expecting that from him at this point, but him silently sitting to the side with a blank look on his face as you recount how Ransom locked the two of you in the basement, slammed your face into the concrete, broke your arm, and nearly killed you makes you feel just as uncomfortable as if he had interrupted you after every other word. 

"Thank you," Louie says softly after he hits the stop button on his phone. He pockets it once more and stands to his feet before carrying the chair back to where he got it from. "This is enough for now." He pats your hand with his own and gives you a brief smile. "It's good to know that you're on the mend, Y/N."

You return his smile and then he's exiting the room, once more leaving the three of you alone. There's nothing but quiet for a few moments before Marta also stands to her feet, her own phone clutched in her hand. 

"Joshua is calling," she explains softly, and then leaves the room. She shuts the door behind her.

You focus on the Detective, growing more and more concerned with each moment that passes that he expresses no emotion. "Blanc," you stretch your fingers out towards him, "are you okay?"

He instantly reaches out and takes your hand, a confused sort of look crossing his face. _Finally,_ you think, _it's something._

"Why," he murmurs as he covers your hand with his other one as well, firmly covering it and swathing it with his protective warmth that you can feel straight to your toes, even with all the medication running through your veins at the moment, "on God's green Earth are you askin' _me_ if I'm okay?"

You sputter at his question. "What?" 

His frown deepens. "Y/N, after what you just described, what makes you think that you should be askin' if I'm okay? If anyone should be asking that question to anyone, it would be me to you."

"Blanc, you've been quiet this whole time."

He lets out a large puff of air. "You just said some pretty heavy stuffy, Sweetheart."

"It wasn't the easiest thing to talk about," you admit, "but I'm more worried about what you're thinking right now."

He blinks his bright blue eyes in surprise. "What _I'm_ thinking?" You nod. "The only thing I'm thinking of at this moment is the things I should've done when I had a hold of Mr. Drysdale, and how I was a fool for letting him live."

You choke on your own air. "Blanc--"

"I should've killed him. I almost did." He finally looks away from you and down at your hands. "If my mama knew of the thoughts running through my head at this moment she would think she had failed in raising me."

"Would she, though?" You ask quietly, and when he finally looks at you once more you see a more vulnerable side to him that wasn't there before. "The things you've told me about your mother makes me think she was a just person, and though I'm forever glad that you don't have the blood of a man like Ransom Drysdale on your hands, I think that if something had happened and you hadn't stopped that night then she would have understood."

Blanc doesn't say anything but he does squeeze your hand just a tiny bit tighter at your words. There's a shine in his eyes as he leans forward and presses a kiss to your hand, before moving forward even more and pressing one of the softest kisses you've ever received in your life to your lips. It's too brief and when he pulls away you wish he would come back, but when you see the tears threatening to fall you don't push him. 

"I was so scared," he says, and it's like he's admitting a dark secret or something with the way it costs all the air in his lungs to get those words out, "when I realized that you were gone. When we learned that Ransom had tricked those officers and you weren't answering your phone, your or Marta, I assumed the worst. Unfortunately my assumptions were correct. I've never wanted to be wrong more than I did in that moment."

Your own lip wobbles. "Don't go blaming yourself again, Blanc. I won't stand for it."

That earns you a weak chuckle. "I won't _let_ you stand right now. You'd be as wobbly as a newborn calf."

"I'll try not to be offended by the comparison to a cow since you're feeling particularly pitiful right now."

You finally manage to get a full-on laugh from him, and you grin as the sound echoes through your room. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and he shakes his head good-naturedly. "My sincerest apologies. I never meant to compare you to a cow."

"Sure you didn't," you tease, "I know you well enough at this point that I can tell when you're serious or not. That was a serious comment."

"It was, but for different reasons." He gets himself back under control and looks at you in such a soft way that your chest warms. "I've never cared for someone as fast and as deep as I've cared for someone like you, Dr. L/N. I must admit that it terrifies me."

You suck in a breath at the naked confession. "I feel the same way."

The two of you gaze at each other as he lifts your hand and kisses it reverntly once more. "Do you think that we've waited long enough that I can finally ask you to get a proper dinner with me?"

An unexpected laugh escapes from your mouth. "Are you being serious? I look like shit. My face is bruised, I have a broken arm, and who knows how else the rest of me looks. And you want to be seen in public with this?"

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards, but his eyes are tender. "You've never looked more beautiful than right now."

This time you're unable to stop the tears from sliding down the sides of your face. You're sure you look anything _but_ beautiful right now as you hold in the whimpers that threaten to escape you, but it doesn't faze him as he leans in once more and kisses you just as he did before, only this time a little more passionately and a little bit longer. His lips are soft against your own and he smells of what's quickly becoming your favorite cologne (mostly because it's the one he always wears). 

When he pulls back he presses a few extra kisses to your cheek, your jaw, and a gentle one to the bandage over your broken nose. He brushes your hair from your face with the hand that's not gripping your own and smiles as he does it. You watch him in silence for a few moments, letting the emotions that this man brings up inside you wash over you until you're nearly drowning with them.

"I love you, Benoit." 

He looks you in the eye once you say that. A smile crawls across his face as he cups your cheek in his hand. He leans forward and presses his forehead to your own, closing his eyes and resting there. 

"I love you too, my dear Y/N."

And you know, even as you lie there in a cast, multiple bandages, and with a steady stream of pain medication slipping into your veins, that as long as this man decides to remain by your side that you'll be okay. 


	29. A Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that some of you have been waiting for is finally happening, but it also might not be what you originally thought hehe
> 
> We're getting close to the endddd!!! If I get them written, I honestly might just post the last couple of chapters at once. I'm officially a week ahead in my school work and I don't feel like I'm drowning for once so that's good. 
> 
> Thank you for the reviews/kudos :)

The next two weeks contain some of the longest and hardest days of your life. And you went to _graduate_ school. 

You're discharged from the hospital with strict orders to take it easy after a week, and then the following week is spent at Marta's, settling into a tender routine and small physical therapy. You're bruised all over, more so than was originally seen from lying in the hospital bed, and the first time you look at yourself completely naked you almost start crying. But Marta is there to help you through it all and hold you as you allow yourself to be comforted by her touch. Mrs. Cabrera and Alice were as accommodating as possible, doting over you and making sure to keep you company. 

You try your best to hide the worst of it. The mental wounds that others can't fix with surgery or bandaids or something as simple as rest. You're a psychologist. You've treated people who have gone through similar things as you, you're not new to this kind of trauma and you know it's not something that can be fixed simply but you also know that you should know better than anyone else how to make yourself feel better.

So why can't you?

Why can't you stop the night terrors, the images that flash through your head as you dream of Jamie breaking into your apartment again but you're _there,_ or of seeing Ransom's face above you as he wraps his hands around your throat instead of Jamie's and kills you instead, or of how instead of plunging the fake knife into Marta's chest it's now Blanc's and the knife is real?

Each time you wake up you're out of breath and it takes a few moments of deep breaths to remind yourself that you're _safe_ and that you're not going to be hurt by them anymore, and neither are your loved ones. Blanc is ever insistent on being there through your recovery process, even though you're _sure_ the man has got better things to do than help you through your daily routines and babysit you. 

_"It's not babysittin' if I'm not getting paid."_

_You drop your mouth in shock. He laughs out loud at the look on your face, only curbing it when he sees the pout on your face._

_"Oh, Sweetheart, you know it ain't like that."_

_You can't help but also feel amused at his teasing. "I know, but sometimes it's nice to make you feel guilty for making fun of me all the time."_

_"Trust me," he says with a new tightness around his eyes that makes you just this side of uneasy, "I feel guilty all the time."_

_"Ben," you say quietly, silently berating yourself for ruining the mood that was between you, "I don't want you to feel guilty about anything. Ever." You lightly pat his cheek. "Except for things like calling me a cow."_

_That makes him start laughing once again and you're proud that you're able to make him do it. "It was an accident!"_

_"No, it wasn't."_

And so sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night when you do--because of _course_ that man is going to insist that you continue to sleep in his bed so that he can keep a close eye on you and be there if something should happen--and he's there to calm you and tell you that it's okay and that he'll be there for you. And then sometimes you manage to stay quiet enough that you don't wake him and let him sleep through the night for a change.

And it makes you suffer in a way you never thought you would. 

Your lack of uninterrupted sleep catches up with you. You start napping more during the day. Bags appear under your eyes. While you struggle to stay awake during a simple movie, you manage to miss the concerned looks thrown your way by the Cabrera's and Blanc. 

"Hey," Marta says to you the day after your doctor said it was okay to remove the nose cast. It was painful but it made breathing easier almost straight away. "Have you thought about what you're going to do about your job?"

"My job?" You blink at her, honestly not having put any thought into returning to your work. And coming from someone who is as dedicated to their profession as you, it's not a good thing. "I...no? My clients know that I'm going to be out of the office for a good amount of time, though."

_Your clients._ Just the thought from Marta's simple question makes you think of Jamie. Unfortunately, this also makes you think of Ransom and all that's happened. You stiffen in your seat as you feel your palms grow sweaty and your broken arm starts to throb. You rub them on your pants in an effort to wipe them off, but it doesn't do much but earn you a twinge of pain from the movement. 

"Y/N?" Marta frowns. "Are you okay?"

_Can you go back to your job? What if something happens with a different client that happened with Jamie? What if they plot with someone else to kill you? What if you end up getting_ them _killed because of who you are? What if--_

It's Marta's repetitive calling of your name that brings you back to the present. She places a warm hand on your uninjured arm and her soft touch grounds you. 

"What just happened?"

You take a deep breath in through your nose. "A minor panic attack. Or the beginnings of one, at least." Marta looks like she's ready to jump up and call for help so you take her hand with your own and squeeze it pleadingly. "Please don't tell anyone, I'm fine now."

"I'm so sorry for whatever happened that made you feel like that," she whispers, and there's that flash of guilt once again for making those closest to you feel bad, "what...what was it? If you don't want to talk about it then don't."

You find you really don't want to talk about going back to work because the thought of doing so honestly scares you. You grimace at her. "Let's just talk about something else, yeah?"

She nods, happy to change the subject. The two of you instead talk about Alice's plans that she's been thinking of for college, and it manages to take your mind off the darkness for a while. 

But you know once you give it a moment to come back it won't hesitate. 

* * *

It's a few nights after that conversation and a few less hours of sleep later that you're surprised by the lack of people downstairs once you finish taking your (now daily) afternoon nap. It's only around five o'clock in the evening, and usually, Marta or Mrs. Cabrera are making supper by this time. Everyone has been staying inside and avoiding the stores and restaurants--the media is still swarming around the property as close as they can get without getting yelled at by the police stationed outside 24/7. Everyone wants to know how the family that was almost killed by Ransom Drysdale is faring after the second murder attempt. If it weren't for the extra support provided by Louie and Joshua, you're sure that you would've been bombarded by them by now. 

You frown as you step off the last of the staircase and walk into the living room. The TV is off and nobody is lying on the couch, so you're not sure where everyone is. The bigger part of your brain knows that they might be outside or just doing something in some other part of your house, but this quiet is making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

"Marta?" You call, turning and softly padding your way into the kitchen. There's a soft glow of light shining in the doorway. Did someone light a candle? "Benoit?"

You stop just inside the kitchen, your jaw dropping in shock. What you see is _not_ what you expected. 

You had been prepared for an empty kitchen and a burning candle. What you find instead is a room full of candles, the fancy candelabra ones like something out of Phantom of the Opera. Sitting on the countertop is two plates of what looks like steak, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. There's are two glasses of red liquid sitting in front of each plate waiting to drink. 

And then there's Blanc. 

_Your detective._

He's sitting in one of the chairs but stands as you come into view, a bright but nervous smile on his face. He's wearing one of his white dress shirts, suspenders, tie and dress pants. A formal outfit that you'll never grow tired of seeing him wear. He steps close to you, a hopeful look in his eye.

"Hello, Sweetheart," Blanc murmurs as he holds his hand out to you, "would you care to join me for dinner?"

You look between him and the romantic setting, also noting the table cloth on the counter and the multiple forks that were set out alongside the plate. "Blanc...what is this?" You look down at yourself, blushing as you see how utterly _underdressed_ you are for something like this. You're wearing sweats and a large sleep shirt, and you're sure your hair isn't the most presentable considering you just woke up. "I look awful!"

"You look beautiful," he instantly corrects you with a slight frown, as though he's offended you would even suggest such a thing. "This was a surprise. It didn't matter if you were dressed up or not."

"Clearly it was a surprise," you scoff, though you're not really upset about any of it, "but if you put this much effort into something like this I could at least put some thought into how I _looked."_

You slip your hand into his and allow him to lead you over to one of the chairs. He pulls one out for you, and with a hesitant look, you carefully sit down in it and allow him to push it in behind you. He moves to your side and sits back in his own chair before gently pushing your plate towards you and then tugging his own in front of him. 

"Filet mignon, medium rare, cooked with sautéed mushrooms and my mother's delicious garlic sauce recipe. The mashed potatoes I'm afraid are instant and the asparagus isn't from a fresh garden, but I'm hoping they're still edible."

You simply stare at the food in front of you, unable to process the effort that went into this whole scene in front of you. "You did this for me?"

Blanc turns his focus from his food to you. He softens as he lifts a hand and cups your cheek, stroking over the healing bruise there with soft brushes from his thumb. 

"I would do it for no other, that's for certain."

You feel yourself overcome with gratuitous emotion as your lower lip trembles. You make a sound in the back of your throat as you lean forward and press your lips to his, finding him more than happy for the affection as he meets you halfway. His hand that had been cupping your cheek smoothly switches around to cradle the back of your head as he holds you in place. You bunch the hand of your good arm in his sleeve jacket, tugging him closer to you. When you feel the swipe of his tongue across your lips you don't hesitate to let him in. As his tongue slips past your own, you find he tastes of cranberries and salt, an odd yet pleasant combination. 

"Mmm," he hums as he slowly pulls back, eyes still closed in bliss while you catch your breath, "if I had the choice between you and this food in front of us, I'm afraid I would go with the former."

You blush even as you smile at him. "Benoit!"

His eyes open with a grin and chuckles at your awkwardness. "I'm afraid I must speak the truth."

You narrow your eyes at him. "You told _me_ to speak the truth."

He tuts at you as he reaches for his wine glass and brings it to his lips, making you jealous of the drink in his hand. "If I recall correctly I simply asked you to say what came to mind. That doesn't necessarily mean it's the truth."

"What? Do you think I've been lying to you this whole time?"

"No," he muses, "I'm simply insinuating you have the _power_ to do so." He picks up his steak knife and fork before dragging your plate a few inches closer to him, not meeting your eyes. "You have more power than you may be aware of."

You watch silently as he starts cutting your steak for you, which is incredibly considerate of him since that would have been difficult for you to do with your arm in a cast. You're getting a sense of vulnerability from him right now, even though he's the one who put this all together and made it all so perfect. It's like he's afraid something is going to happen, something is going to go wrong and you're going to leave or he's going to leave or, _or--_

"Benoit," you place your hand on top of his own that was in the process of sawing through the meat, halting it immediately. His blue eyes lock with your own, full of something like hope. "What are you afraid of?"

There's a moments pause, and then he catches you off guard by smiling. "You truly hold my heart in the palm of your hands, Dr. L/N, and I think it's quite cute that you don't know it."

You blush at his words, unable to stop yourself from doing so. He turns back to the steak on your plate, the soft smile still playing on his lips and looking a little more relaxed than he just was. 

"You know, for a first date you're saying all the right things."

"Really?" 

You nod. "The last guy I went on a first date with, he did nothing but spend the first two hours telling me about how he was having issues with his boss at work and was trying to get him fired by the higher-ups."

Blanc laughs at that as he finishes with your steak, putting his knife down and sliding your plate in front of you once more. "Perhaps it's because something about you just says you're easy to talk to."

You smirk. "Is that why you talked to me that night out on the back porch?"

Blanc reaches forward for his wine glass, trying his best to hide the mischievous glint in his eye. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" You call his bluff. "You don't remember?" You drop your voice an octave and attempt a southern accent in a poor mock of what he sounds like in your ears. _"I anticipate the terminus of gravity's rainbow."_

That earns you another full-belly laugh, nearly making the man spit his drink out in the process. "Is that what I sound like?"

You giggle at how high-pitched his voice just went. "No, you sound a lot better than what I did. Your voice is one of the things I was first attracted to."

His hand hovers in the air for a moment before placing the drink back on the table. "My voice?"

You hum. "Very swoon-worthy."

The side of his mouth quirks upwards. "'Swoon-worthy'?"

You give him a wink as you pick up your fork and stab a piece of the filet in front of you. You shove it in your mouth and let out a delighted sound as the flavors immediately burst upon your tongue. You look to Blanc in astonishment, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. He watches you, waiting for your reaction to the food. Judging by his smirk he's nothing less than pleased.

"All right," you say after you've finished chewing your bite, "where is my Benoit and what have you done with him?"

Blanc sputters at that. "What?"

You point your finger accusingly at the delicious meat in front of you. "The Blanc I know cooks a good _grilled cheese,_ not filet that's as perfect as this!"

"I see," he mutters as you grin, "this is payback for the cow comment, isn't it?"

"It's only appropriate, considering what I'm eating," you say as you shove another bite in. Another groan escapes you as you find the taste of that bite just as good as the last one. You reach forward for your drink, and then hesitate. You look over to Blanc questioningly, needing confirmation that it's okay for you to drink this. 

Only when you turn to Blanc you see him watching you with an intense sort of look, though it's nothing that tells you he's angry or worried. No, this look in his eye describes a sort of hunger, and judging by the thrill that runs down your spine to your toes, you don't think it's a hunger for food, per say.

He breaks his staring at you and flicks over to the drink that's a few centimeters from your hold. "Oh," he clears his throat and adjusts his tie around his neck almost nervously, "it's cranberry juice, not alcohol. I didn't want you to mix that with your medicine, so we're bein' safe tonight."

You take a sip of the cranberry juice, enjoying the cool, sweet taste as it slides down your throat. Once you're finished you place it back down on the table and bravely meet Blanc's eyes. 

"What if I don't want to be safe?"

His eyes widen just the slightest. You reach forward and take his hand with your good one, lifting his knuckles to your lips as he always does and brushing them with a soft kiss, all while maintaining eye contact. He inhales sharply, a loud sound in the quiet of the room. 

"Y/N..." he murmurs softly, his fingers tightening over your own. You expect him to do something, say something to encourage this because you've wanted to move forward with him for a while now and you've thought you've caught hints over the past couple months that he's wanted the same thing, but you can't help the slight stab of disappointment as he pulls your hand into his lap and holds it there. "We can't."

Your face flushes with embarrassment. "Oh." You immediately try to take your hand back but he keeps it held tightly in his grip, refusing to let go. You look at him in confusion, not sure what to make of his mixed signals. "Blanc, I can take a rejection. I'm a grown woman."

He closes his eyes tightly for a brief second, and you see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "It's not--it's not a rejection. I would never reject such a thing from you, not somethin' as precious as that."

That makes you feel a little better, although you're still not sure what he means since his words say one thing and his actions another. "I'm confused."

He takes his hand that isn't holding your own and lifts it to your face once again, swiping it over the side of your cheek. "You're still healing from what happened, and I don't want to do anything that would hurt you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did somethin' like that to you."

Oh. _Oh._ That's why he's saying no? Because he doesn't want to hurt you? "Benoit, you wouldn't hurt me."

His fingers brush over the bridge of your nose, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to the place where your bandage had been not too long ago. You wince and immediately flinch out of his reach, the area still tender. He watches you sadly, slowly lowering his hand into his lap again. 

"When the time comes for that, should you wish it to," his voice is low as he speaks, and the combination of the sound of it along with his seductive words makes your stomach fill with butterflies, "I want to be able to do so without fear of causing you any pain." He drags his hand up your arm that's in the cast and follows it to your shoulder, across to your neck until it curls around the back to hold your head. "I can be a patient man when I want to be, especially when I know it will be better for the both of us."

You narrow your eyes but let out a sigh. "I guess that's better than being rejected."

He scoffs. "I would be a _fool_ to reject you." He strokes his thumb over my cheek one last time before turning back to his food and picking up his fork, stabbing a stalk of asparagus with it. "At least this answers one question that's been on my mind."

You turn back to your food as well, grabbing another bite of meat. "What's that?" You shove the food in your mouth and barely stop yourself from moaning at it this time. 

"Now I know I won't have to wait until we're married to make love to you."

You nearly choke on the food in your mouth, all the while Blanc chews his food happily at your side. 

_"Married?"_

He laughs, and it warms your chest. You get the feeling that you're going to sleep pretty well tonight, and it's all thanks to this wonderful man beside you.


	30. A Court Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally 26 pages long so I split it up into two chapters. Part two will be posted directly after this. 
> 
> Thank you for being patient these past couple of months! This story is almost over, I think maybe one more chapter. 
> 
> Love you guys so so so much.

"It's almost over."

Marta does her best to make you feel better with confident whispers. You give a weak smile as you once more adjust your blouse. There isn't much for you to do in here while you wait for the proceedings to start besides make sure you look your best. 

Five weeks. That's how long it's taken from the night Ransom kidnapped you and Marta until now to get to court. It was supposed to happen over a month ago, but because of his murder attempt on your lives and waiting for you to heal and him to get out of his coma, it took longer than expected. You were both happy and annoyed by the delay, happy because it gave you more time to heal and be around the Cabreras and Blanc, but annoyed because the impending dread of this day continued to grow until you started having more sleepless nights than ever. The worry about what you were going to do with your job once you were cleared for work again also made you nervous, and even though you _know_ you shouldn't be worrying over something like that, you can't stop it. 

But you're here now, sitting in a packed courtroom with the jury, observers, and news reporters who eagerly have their cameras pointed at the door where the officers are going to be bringing Ransom in at any moment. 

The first you'll be seeing him since he killed Jamie. 

Another shaky breath. Sudden warmth surrounds your hand and you look over to see Marta squeezing your hand comfortingly. She gives you a tight-lipped smile, her way of reassuring you. It's a nice reminder that you're not alone. Blanc isn't allowed upfront with you, he's sitting in the pew just behind you. You glance over your shoulder and find him already watching you, his face stony and determined, but as your eyes meet he softens and nods at you. The simple reassurance that he's here is enough for you to turn back around and continue waiting. Mrs. Cabrera and Alice are on his other side, nervous about the proceedings and being in public like this. Though the word has gotten out about the situation with Marta's mother, Walt was right when he said Harlan's expensive lawyers would fix it. It's going to be a long process, but Mrs. Cabrera isn't going anywhere. 

The way the lawyers have proved themselves with Mrs. Cabrera has made you feel a little better, but when it comes to Ransom you've learned to never expect the expected. He's cunning, and he will work to find a way to get what he wants. 

The doors to the side of the courtroom open and you feel all the air get sucked out of your lungs as Ransom, dressed in an orange jumpsuit and wearing shackles around his ankles and wrists is led in, two guards flanked on either side and holding tightly to his elbows. If you look hard enough you can spot a healing cut along his jaw and face here and there, but for the most part, he seems to be completely healed. You're almost the same way, save for the cast your arm is still in. One more week and you can get that off. 

His head lifts and he searches the room as the reporters start talking over one another, flashing their cameras and describing the situation. Even though there are only three different media reporters allowed in the room, it makes it feel like a celebrity sighting. Too bad it's the wrong kind of celebrity. 

All the air is sucked from your lungs when he stares at you. His eyes, bright blue and cold as ever, narrow as the corner of his mouth lifts into a sneer. You squeeze Marta's hand tightly under the table, and instead of making you let go like you were expecting her to, she simply squeezes you back. A reminder that you're not alone.

Not anymore.

The guards lead Ransom over to his side of the room behind the table where his lawyer, a middle-aged man with a permanent scowl on his face, is already waiting for him. You figured you'd be angry all the time too if you had to constantly defend those who are guilty of horrible crimes. One of the officers at the front of the room stands tall and faces the crowd, his hands tucked neatly behind his back.

"All rise. Department One of the Superior Court is now in session. Judge Henry presiding." 

You stand to your feet as everyone else does as well, the reporters turning their cameras to the front as the judge for your case walks through a different set of doors and up to the chair in the front of the room. He's an older gentleman, with black hair only a few shades darker than his skin. He waves a hand and the guard upfront at his side nods. 

"Please be seated."

Everyone sits back down. One of Harlan's lawyers to your right, Eric Gregory, shuffles through his papers and gets ready to start. 

You take a breath in and out carefully. This is it. 

Judge Henry looks down at you and then over to Ransom briefly. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We're here today for the case of Cabrera versus Drysdale." He lets out a breath, making you feel as though this man wants to be here even less than you do. "Are both sides ready?"

Eric nods firmly, as does Ransom's lawyer. Henry seems to accept their nonverbal answer.

"Will the clerk please swear in the jury?"

The clerk, a small man off waiting for his moment stands and walks over until he's directly in front of the people seated off to the side. You vaguely hear him go through a slightly different spiel than you and Marta had to go through earlier. Try the case fairly and give a true verdict, or so help them God. 

Once the jury is sworn in, it's time for Eric to give the opening statements. He pushes his chair back and stands up, and you watch with bated breath as he walks around the table and to the center of the room. 

"Your honor and ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant here today has been charged with counts of breaking and entering, stealing, kidnapping, attempted murder, and murder of the first degree." People shift around uncomfortably in their seats, some of them stealing glances at the man dressed in the orange jumpsuit. You, personally, refuse to look at Ransom more than absolutely necessary. "The evidence and testimonies provided today will provide more than sufficient evidence that the man before us is guilty as charged for every listed crime."

You're impressed by how smooth Eric is when talking. He's unflappable, confident with every word and very compelling when he addresses the jury directly. Once his opening statement is finished and he's once more sitting beside you, you're surprised to find yourself feeling a little more relaxed. A smidgen of hope blooms inside. 

Ransom's lawyer stands and that hope is dashed to the back of your mind once more. Frank Wesley is his name, and he seems determined in a more negative way than Eric is to get his point across to the jury. He takes big clomping steps over to the jury and slaps one hand on the wood separating them from the rest of you. 

"Your honor and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: under the law my client is presumed innocent until proven guilty. During today's trial you will be hearing _no_ real evidence against my client. You will come to know the truth: that Hugh Drysdale was just another victim in a grander scheme for money made by someone else that he wasn't aware of until it was too late. Jamie Woodward."

Your breath catches at the blatant way Frank drops Jamie's name. Eric stands to his feet. "Objection!" Judge Henry holds up his hand to pause Frank's speech. "He's leading the jury. This other party that Mr. Wesley is bringing up is now deceased and unable to defend themselves. The only witnesses to the truth are those here with us today."

Judge Henry motions for Eric to sit down, and he does so, albeit reluctantly. "This is true, Mr. Wesley. One of the things Mr. Drysdale is being charged with today is the death of Mr. Woodward."

Frank narrows his eyes. "Adding cases to an innocent party isn't an uncommon practice, Your Honor."

Judge Henry slams his gavel down on the table top, a frown of his own forming on his face. "Is that all you have for your opening statement?" Frank nods after a brief pause. "The prosecution may call its first witness."

Eric stands up. "The People call Meg Thrombey to the stand."

_Meg._ You forgot that one of the witnesses being used today was going to be her. Meg walks forward and is directed up to the clerk. He has her state her full name and swears her in before having her go behind the podium and take a seat. She fidgets around, almost nervously, but once she looks over to you and Marta she gives a hesitant smile. 

"Meg," Eric says calmly, walking over to stand in front of her, "are you currently employed?"

Meg blinks at him. "Um, no. I go to college full-time."

"So you're unemployed?"

Meg seems annoyed by the blunt question. "Yes."

"Does this mean that you would spend a lot of time with your family when you weren't at school?"

She frowns. "No, not particularly. I have an apartment near the school I attend and purposely avoid family gatherings. I only came back for my grandfather's 80th birthday. We were staying a few nights and then heading home."

"You said your purposely avoid your family," Eric starts pacing in front of her, inching closer and closer to the jury with each turn, "why is that?"

This time Meg's expression is one of annoyance. "Because they're racist and sexist trash that no decent human being should have to surround themselves with."

A few coughs ring out through the courtroom, some of them amused. "I see," Eric smirks. "And what about Mr. Drysdale?"

"The racist and sexist father or the racist and sexist son?"

"Objection," Frank interjects this time, scowling at Meg. She doesn't even blink at the man.

"Overruled. Miss Thrombey," Judge Henry quirks a brow at her, "please continue, but make sure to answer the questions."

Meg nods and focuses back on your lawyer. "Ransom--everyone except for 'the help' was allowed to call him Ransom, he made those employed at the manor call him Hugh--is an egotistical man that I particularly don't like being around. He's a creep, used to always corner women and brag about things he's done. And his stupid _car--"_

"Objection!" Frank stands again, exasperated. Meg attacking the beamer was sure to wound Ransom at least a _little_ bit. "This has nothing to do with the case, Your Honor."

"It's a judge of character," Eric defends Meg.

Judge Henry shakes his head. "Continue, Mr. Gregory."

Frank knows he lost this battle and sits down. He leans over and whispers something into Ransom's ear, and with a sinking stomach you watch as he starts to grin.

"Miss Thrombey, when was the first sign that Mr. Drsydale had done something to your grandfather?"

You sympathize with Meg as her face falls. She might not have been around him often, but Harlan did have a soft spot for Meg. She is the only daughter of his deceased son, after all, and the most pleasant to be around. 

"The police came to the house the day that Fran died, and said that Marta and Y/N were coming back with the detective to say something, that all of us had to be there to hear it. We thought it was going to be them saying that they renounced the inheritance, but I couldn't believe it was so easy. Ransom on the other hand, he...he was quiet. It was like when the will was being read the first time and we all found out that we didn't get anything. He was _quiet._ Like he knew something the rest of us didn't." She looks around Eric and glares at Ransom, who just stares blankly back at her. "I knew then that he was up to something. One thing about Ransom? He _wants_ everyone to know he's better than them. It's never good when he's silent. If he's not bragging then he's insulting, but he wasn't doing either of those things."

Eric turns to Frank before he has the chance to stand and object once again. "It's a judge of character, and it turned out to be a _right_ one." He turns back to Meg. "Thank you, I have no further questions."

Judge Henry finally gives Frank the chance to talk. "Does the defense have any questions?"

Frank mulls the question over. "Yes, Your Honor." Eric walks back over to the seat at your side as Frank walks up to Meg. "Meg, as a matter of fact, your college bills were being paid through Harlan, were they not?"

Meg doesn't seem happy at all with that question. "Harlan was paying my college tuition, yes, but it's because of my dad that he did so. I didn't ask him to do that."

Frank rubs a hand over his jaw. "Because of your dad? Can you elaborate?"

Meg clenches her jaw, and your heart tugs for the girl. "My dad is dead. He died when I was little. Harlan has--had been helping my mom and I financially since we're on our own."

"But doesn't your mom own her own business?"

"Yes, it's a skin-care company."

"So your mom should have been able to provide for you?"

Meg purses her lips. "Just because someone owns a business doesn't mean they're automatically rich."

"Answer the question, please."

Meg huffs. "She did her best, but without Harlan it would have been hard."

Frank nods. "I see. So you were depending on the inheritance from Harlan to support you?"

"No, we weren't--"

"The death of a multi-millionaire such as Harlan was widely advertised. People knew he was dead and that there would be money. Mr. Drysdale being excluded from the will meant that, in theory, you would get a bigger portion, would it not?"

"I guess so--"

"And so you would want to discredit any possible chance for Mr. Drysdale to prove him innocent so long as you got more money?"

Meg's mouth drops in shock as you gasp. 

"Objection!" Eric stands quickly. "He's leading the witness, Your Honor. Meg Thrombey wouldn't discredit Mr. Drysdale because at this point in time the inheritance is legally Miss L/N and Miss Cabrera's. The money goes to nobody else."

A headache begins to form behind your eyes. You should've known that Ransom would pull a stunt that would make the jury think you and Marta were in this simply for the money, that you were doing anything you possibly could to make Ransom look bad even though he has done _bad things._

"Sustained," Judge Henry turns to Frank. "It's public knowledge that no blood relatives are receiving the inheritance, Mr. Wesley."

Frank nods, though he seems a little too confident for your liking. "No further questions, Your Honor."

Judge Henry glances at Meg, who seems flustered after having all these accusations thrown at her. "The witness is excused."

As she walks past you send her an apologetic look, one which she returns. Your hands begin to feel clammy in your lap. 

"The prosecution may call the next witness."

"The People call Benoit Blanc to the stand."

You turn your head to watch as Blanc stands from his position behind you and heads for the clerk. He adjusts his suit coat and sleeves along the way, emanating calm confidence. It's amazing how just watching him instantly makes you feel more reassured, as though you can do _anything_ with this man on your side. 

He looks over to you as soon as he's sworn in and seated, sending you a quick smile before turning his eyes onto Eric. You let out a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding in. 

"Mr. Blanc, what is it that you do for a living?"

Benoit straightens in his seat. "I'm a detective, self-employed."

"And what is it that brought you to be here today?"

Blanc looks over to where Ransom is sitting, and even lets out a chuckle. "Well, believe it or not, it was Mr. Drysdale himself who first hired me to investigate the death of his grandfather. Now, it wasn't _explicitly_ documented that Mr. Drysdale was the one who hired me, but that was all figured out after a few things came to light."

Eric gestures for Blanc to continue, and so after receiving a nod from the judge, he does just that.

Listening to Blanc tell the story of him first arriving at the manor and hearing him go through his process of gathering information is something you find you'll never get tired of. You're not sure if it's the way he tells the story or simply listening to him talk in that accent of his, but you find yourself almost entranced with what he has to say. 

And when you glance at the jury, you can tell that they must feel the exact same as you. 

"Interesting," Eric simply says once Blanc is finished speaking. "So Mr. Drysdale planned this whole scheme?"

"Objection!" Frank interjects, "the detective himself said there was no proof to show that Mr. Drysdale was the one who hired him. Insinuating to the jury that it was a ploy to get attention away from him is without proof!"

Eric turns to Frank directly. "I never said that it was a _ploy_ to get attention away from Mr. Drysdale. Unless there's something you know that the rest of us don't, Mr. Wesley?"

Judge Henry slams his gavel onto the table, startling you with the sudden boom of it. 

"Order!" He shouts, breaking up the argument that had started between the two lawyers. Eric turns back to face him while Frank steams from his place behind his table. For the first time since this all started, you see Ransom without his cocky grin.

"I will not have _bickering_ during a case as serious as this one." Judge Henry seems legitimately annoyed. "Control yourselves or I'll have you _both_ kicked from this room. Now, Mr. Gregory, are you finished with the witness?"

Eric, though he seems hardly admonished by Judge Henry's words, nods almost smugly. "I have no further questions."

Judge Henry turns to Frank. "Does the defense have any questions?"

"We do," Frank says, as though through clenched teeth. Though Blanc and Eric seem unfazed by it, it manages to make you grip Marta's hand even tighter than before. As though sensing your apprehension, she turns to you with a frown.

"It's okay," she whispers, but you can't help the bad feeling that begins to form in your gut.

"Mr. Blanc," Frank adjusts his tie and stares Blanc in the eye, "you say you were hired to investigate the mysterious circumstances of Harlan Thrombey's suicide."

Blanc pauses briefly. "Supposed suicide."

Frank arches a brow. "But it was ruled a suicide, was it not? Otherwise Miss Cabrera and Miss L/N would not have been granted the inheritance, correct?"

Blanc's suspicion is obvious as he narrows his eyes. He quirks his mouth up, still trying to remain unfazed, but you can tell this line of questioning must not lead anywhere good, and he knows it.

"...that would be correct."

"So, Hugh Drysdale has been painted in a bad light for supposedly killing his grandfather, when this whole time my client had nothing to do with it."

"I wouldn't say that," Blanc interrupts, "I would say he moreso _led_ to Harlan deciding to commit suicide, rest his soul." He steals a glance in your direction, gauging your reaction to everything that's happening. The smile he sends you doesn't reassure you as much as it had earlier.

"I see," Frank murmurs. He folds his hands behind his back and begins to pace, looking to the jury every few moments. "Is it also true that you've recently entered into a relationship with one of the plaintiffs?"

Your blood instantly freezes. It's as though ice runs through your veins.

Blanc, for the first time, looks caught off guard. The easy-going smile on his face falters and he hesitates before answering. "Recently, yes. Though I take careful consideration in making sure my personal feelings do not intervene with a logical conclusion to a case, which is why I remained neutral in the one concerning the Thrombey family."

Frank juts his thumb in your direction. "But you _are_ in a relationship with miss L/N, correct? A simple yes or no will suffice."

Blanc briefly flits his eyes over to you. He must not like the look he finds on your face because he clenches his jaw and you're able to see the muscle tick there. "Yes."

"Are you saying you harbored _no_ feelings for Miss L/N while working on the Thrombey case?"

Blanc cuts his eyes back to Frank. "Now, Mr. Wesley--"

"Objection Your Honor, the answer is non-responsive."

Judge Henry seems fed up with Frank's own objection over Blanc's response, but goes along with it anyway. "Sustained. Please answer the question, Mr. Blanc."

Another glare from Blanc. "No."

"No, what?" Frank pushes.

"No, I didn't feel nothing for _Dr._ L/N while working on the case."

You look to Blanc. You're not sure how to feel. You were aware that he started developing feelings for you while on the case, but having him admit to such a thing in front of all these people must be hard for him to do. The fact that he emphasized your title as a doctor you think was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because it could be a positive fact to give you more credibility, but bad because if Blanc is publicly defending you like this then it might make the situation with the two of you look bad in front of the jury. Your face heats up as you feel the eyes of multiple people turn to look at you. 

"Don't worry," Eric barely murmurs to you so that nobody else can hear what he has to say, "this is going nowhere. Just because the detective is in a relationship with you doesn't jeopardize the case because the relationship didn't happen until _after_ Harlan's death was ruled a suicide."

You suck in a shallow breath and nod, willing yourself to believe what it is Eric is saying. He's trying, bless him, but you're just not sure if it's good enough. Ransom is smart, much smarter than most people may think, and if he has someone as tough as Frank Wesley on his side fighting for him, he's going to make sure he gives everyone in the room and their grandmother a run for their money. 

And that's what worries you.

"Answer me this, Mr. Blanc: do you truly believe it's possible to rule without allowing a person's individual feelings to chime in on a verdict?"

Blanc gives him a sarcastic smile. "Are you comparing my method to a Vulcan, Mr. Wesley?"

Frank blinks at him. "Are you saying you're from the show... _Star Trek,_ Mr. Blanc?"

Eric scoffs. "Objection! There's no relevance for this line of questioning, Your Honor."

Judge Henry nods. "Sustained. Get to the _point,_ Mr. Wesley."

"The point, Your Honor," Frank steps over the brief stray in conversation as though it was never there to begin with, "is that as stated earlier, tampering of evidence happens all the time. Who's to say that accusations weren't falsly made due to some feelings for someone involved in the case so that the conclusion would work in their favor? Is it possible that a conflict of interest occurred here and the blame was put on Mr. Drysdale to take the light off of Miss L/N's involvement with Mr. Woodward."

"Objection!" Eric stands this time. "The only involvement my client had with Mr. Woodward was a _professional_ one. He was her client, nothing more, nothing less."

"What about the letter he wrote her? Hmm?" 

Your mouth drops open in shock as Frank walks over to his briefcase and pulls out the last letter that Jamie wrote to you as a goodbye. 

"How did he get that?" You hiss, feeling yourself start to grow hot with anger. That was in your office at work, not somewhere just lying around where anybody could take it. "How could he have possibly had access to that?" 

Eric doesn't answer your question, simply watches the events in front of him take place as he seems deep in thought. He's not happy, that much is obvious.

"Your Honor, I would like to have this letter marked as people's exhibit number one and ask that it be admitted into evidence."

Judge Henry turns to where you're stewing in your seat. "Does the plaintiff have any objection?"

"Yes, Your Honor, we do." He addresses Frank directly. "The letter in question was in the personal care of my client and not available to the defendant. It's curious how they gained legal access to it."

Frank smiles. "Ah, you see, Mr. Drysdale was there when Mr. Woodward wrote the letter. He was forced to bear witness to it and make sure it got delivered."

_That liar!_

"Overruled," Judge Henry says in favor of Frank, who seems thrilled that he can keep the damn letter. "Proceed, Mr. Wesley."

"Of course, Your Honor." Frank clears his throat, more for dramatics than anything else. "Dear Dr. L/N," Frank starts to read, and your ears start to ring through your skull, "I'm sorry I can't do this in person, but I don't have a lot of time and when I stopped in on Monday the receptionist said that you were going to be gone for a while. I would have sent an email but that just feels impersonal." Frank glances up from the letter to look at the jury. "Impersonal? Why should a simple client worry about something being _impersonal?"_

_Oh no._

"I'm moving out of state next week because I've been accepted to work for another company, and I finally feel well enough to be able to try things out on my own." He nods. "Vague and doesn't go into detail on what this 'new job' is and what he will be doing. It's unclear on whether or not Mr. Woodward actually had a job or was just planning on living off the money he planned on stealing from the Thrombey family."

"Objection!" Eric grits his teeth. "He is leading the jury, Your Honor."

"Sustained."

"This letter seems like it's hiding another message inside. One that only someone who knew the person who wrote it very well would understand. Would you consider someone such as Miss L/N to be someone who would have known Mr. Woodward well, since she was his doctor?"

All humor, real or fake, is gone from Blanc's expression. "Yes."

"And do you think it impossible that Mr. Woodward contained absolutely _no_ feelings whatsoever for Miss L/N, which would lead for him to enlist the help of someone close to the Thrombey family, such as Hugh Drysdale, in an effort to get the money from Harlan and try to form a relationship with Miss L/N himself, even if it meant having to kidnap her in the process? Is it not possible that Mr. Drysdale was the one trying to _help_ Miss Cabrera and Miss L/N the whole time?"

You vaguely hear Eric once more shouting his objections, and more voices around you break out as people begin to talk amongst themselves. You're not able to focus on anything, the things in front of you or any of the voices rising to be heard over the other. 

_Is it not possible that Mr. Drysdale was the one trying to_ help _Miss Cabrera and Miss L/N the whole time?_

You know it's poppycock. You _know_ that Ransom is a murderer, kidnapper, and horrible person all around. You _know_ that Jamie was just someone unlucky enough to be trapped in Ransom's web. 

But you also know that the story that Ransom and his lawyers are spinning sounds believable. 

Given the right evidence, this could turn into something terrible, something _horrible_ for you.

The idea that Ransom, after everything he's done, all the pain and sorrow and blood that's been shed because of him, that he might get _away_ with it all, is enough to make you want to pass out.


	31. A Court Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the court date!
> 
> Again, one more chapter after this one is probably all that I have left in me. Thank you all for sticking around so long (especially since Knives Out came out a year ago!)

"Y/N? Y/N, hey!" 

You blink your eyes back into focus and stare at Marta. She's gripping your shoulders tightly, holding you in a place where you're leaned back in your chair. The courtroom is silent as Marta, Eric, and one of the police officers surround you. Over the officer's shoulder, you see Blanc standing in place and staring at you, concern clear as day on his face as he grips the railing in front of him with white knuckles. 

"Sorry," you mutter, "don't feel good."

The officer turns over his shoulder and says something to the judge. Judge Henry nods and raises a hand, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. 

"We'll take a brief 15-minute recess. We'll resume afterward." He hits his gavel on the podium with a final bang and then stands before exiting the room. 

Blanc rushes around the railing and over to your side at the same time that Marta grabs your upper elbow and helps you to your feet. He gently wraps one arm around your waist and together the two of them walk you past the crowd and media and out into the hallway.

The air outside the courtroom is crisper and refreshing in your lungs. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, sinking into the bench that they lead you to. You lean forward and bury your face in your hands, trying to ground yourself. Someone sits at your side and when a hand brushes the hair from your face you know it's Blanc. You lean into his side without looking and feel him automatically put his arm around you. You don't care if someone sees the two of you right now--you need him and his strength.

"Okay," Eric suddenly joins the three of you outside the courtroom, "we can work with this. It's not something we were expecting, but we can get over this hump."

"Hump?" You ask, looking up from your hands for the first time. "This is more than a _hump,_ Eric. I'm being accused of being in an inappropriate relationship with a client. This is detrimental not only to the verdict of this case but also to my professional career. I'll be ruined if people believe that that's actually true."

Eric goes silent. You stare at him as he frowns, mulling your words over. "Give me a few minutes." With that, he turns on his heel and walks down the hall. 

"We're fucked," you groan and slump into your hands again. 

"No, we most certainly are not," Blanc reassures you. "Though I wasn't expecting them to be so... _blunt_ about the state of our personal relationship, we have absolutely nothing to hide. We have done nothing wrong, and we're also not the only ones who know that Mr. Drysdale is the guilty party in that room. Just because they throw a few curveballs doesn't mean the game is over."

"He's right," Marta agrees, "our lawyers have prepared for _weeks_ for this day. We should give them some credit."

"I know," you sigh, "I just...seeing him there, being so close to him, not knowing what it is that he's thinking..." you force back the sob that threatens to burst from you, "I'm so _scared_ of what could happen."

Blanc reaches out and gently lifts your chin with a finger. "Nothin' is goin' to happen to you. Not anymore. I'm right there with you, as is Marta, Mrs. Cabrera, Alice, and a few other people you've managed to gain in your corner. This day isn't over yet, Sweetheart. We've still got a few cards up our sleeves."

You force yourself to take Blanc's words optimistically, even though a piece of you is still scared for the future. "Okay, I'll give it a chance."

Blanc snorts and rolls his eyes. "Glad to know someone listens to what I say. That Wesley sure does rub me the wrong way."

"Me too," Marta nods quickly, expressing her similar discomfort of the man.

You laugh weakly, feeling uplifted just a little bit by the optimistic smiles on their faces. You should know by now that when you're not doing well when you're scared or worried or unsure of what the future has to hold, these two are always going to be in your corner. You can do anything so long as you're with them. 

"Let's give them hell."

* * *

And now it's time for the moment you were dreading, but knew was inevitable. 

"The People call Y/N L/N to the stand."

You've already been sworn in, so you walk over to the guard and allow him to guide you into the chair upfront. Sitting there in front of everyone, their eyes fixed on you as though they're trying to see something that isn't visible to the naked eye, is more intimidating than you thought it would be. The cameras in the back of the room with the media, news reporters with their tape recorders ready to speak into, the people in the crowd watching you intently, waiting for something to happen. Mrs. Cabrera and Alice give encouraging nods while Blanc straightens in his seat, keeping his eyes locked on you and remaining ready. 

Ready to help, ready to be there for you, ready for whatever it is may happen. 

You can't stop your eyes from drifting over to where Ransom is seated, almost directly in front of you. His cold blue eyes are stuck on your own, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards just enough that you _know_ he's entertained by seeing you in this seat. He looks rough, his hair a little longer and some facial hair growing along his jaw, but besides the slight bags under his eyes, you would never have suspected that he was affected by the position he's in right now. 

And that infuriates you. 

The past two hours have been filled with back-and-forths of witnesses from both your side and the defendants. Coworkers, people who worked at the manor, acquaintances of Ransom's, and those who were involved in his mother's own business that he knew were called to the stand. 

Linda and Richard didn't want to be here today. Nobody did, save for Meg. Though you get the idea that some of them were eager to see Ransom get what he deserved, none of them wanted their name attached to one of the biggest court cases of the decade. Ransom's parents have as good as disowned him, especially after what he did to Richard. 

Marta had to testify at one point. You thought Frank was surely going to take advantage of the fact that she can't lie without vomiting, but he didn't. It probably helped that Marta answered each question thrown at her truthfully.

With each witness that Eric has called to the stand, you've felt yourself growing more and more confident. The fear for an uncertain ruling has diminished, though you're not entirely sure it's completely gone. 

And so now it's your turn to get your word in.

"Y/N, where are you employed?"

"I work for a practice outside of Boston. I'm a licensed psychologist and provide therapy and psychological services for those who require or ask for it."

"Y/N, can you walk us through how you met the defendant here today?"

You take a deep breath. You knew this was eventually going to happen, but that doesn't mean this is going to be any easier. 

"Shortly after I finished with my undergraduate degree, I started working part-time with Marta at the house for Harlan. It was a job to hold me over as I got my doctorate, and then once I became licensed and started working at the practice I'm currently employed at, I stopped working at the house. At this point in time, I had been around the family for a decent amount of time and they knew who I was. Because of the strong relationship I had formed with Harlan, I still came back to the house often to visit and spend time with him. That includes when the other family members would be there. 

"Ransom--because that was what he had everyone but those employed call him, as Meg said earlier--being the grandson of Harlan, was around sometimes." You pause and look to Ransom, staring him down as you think of what you're saying next. "Ransom was always a wild card. When in a profession such as mine, I rely on being able to read a person. I've always had trouble doing so with him. Harlan confided in me one day that he was concerned about Ransom and where he was leading himself in life, and asked me to check in with him and have a word." You swallow and look away from Ransom as a grin begins to spread across his face. "But he proved to be a deplorable human and I soon realized that there was no way I'd be able to help him."

Eric glances up to the judge where he finds him listening intently. Just where we want him. "And what was your involvement in the case concerning Harlan Thrombey's suicide?"

You look down at your hands in your lap. "Harlan was a dear friend. Those who took the time to get to know him would have found someone special that you can't just find anywhere anymore. About a week after his suicide is when Marta and I received the call that we were being called back to the house for questioning from the police. This is when I met Detective Blanc. It wasn't until...later on that I learned that there was something wrong with what had happened to Harlan."

"Wrong?" Eric asks. "Wrong how?"

"The building where Harlan's toxicology report was being held was burned down. It's what...it's what would have shown that Harlan had died of a morphine overdose instead of suicide. But the building was _burned down._ As though someone wanted to hide the truth that there _wasn't_ an overdose of morphine in Harlan's blood, which is why he really did die by suicide."

"So the building was burned down. How does this tie in with Mr. Drysdale?"

You look to Ransom, and you're pleased to find that some of the smile from his face is gone. He probably wasn't expecting you to openly admit to the time when you thought Marta had accidentally killed Marta, but what he doesn't know is that sometimes telling the truth actually works in a person's favor.

"I was confused at first. How many people would know what a toxicology report would hold? And how would they know where to even go to _get_ the toxicology report? And then I remembered that Ransom worked on reading such a thing a few summers ago. He would know just what to do for that situation.

"Objection!" Frank's voice echoes throughout the room. "There's no evidence that suggests that my client would possibly know how to read such a thing."

"I'm sure evidence could easily be gathered to prove what Miss L/N is saying should _you_ need proof, Mr. Wesley." Eric bites back.

"Overruled," Judge Henry interrupts, "Everyone in this room speaking today was required to take an oath to tell the truth. Mr. Drysdale, is it true that you worked on such things? If you lie and Mr. Gregory is able to obtain this evidence he speaks of, you will be charged with perjury."

Ransom, for the first time since stepping foot into the courtroom, is required to talk. The attention shifts to him and his brow lowers as he glares out from underneath it. He isn't happy with where this is going, not at all. 

"It's true."

More whispers break out in the courtroom as Frank turns to his client, flabbergasted. He sits down and starts speaking to him in quick, hushed tones. Hearing Ransom speak sends shivers down your spine, but they're not the good kind.

"Order!" Judge Henry demands, shifting the attention back to him. Blanc smiles at you from his seat, and you manage to give him one of your own in return. "Continue, Mr. Gregory."

"Miss L/N, will you tell us what happened once Mr. Thrombey's death was ruled a suicide."

And here's where you know you're going to have trouble. 

You start telling the grueling story of living in constant fear for the next several weeks as you waited for this exact day that would never come. Of how your apartment was broken into, of how Marta's car was trashed, Jamie stopping all visits, being kidnapped from your place of work, being kept tied up in the basement. 

At one point, Eric brings pictures up on a projector kept off to the side. He apologizes to the crowd, as well as you, for what they're about to see. You look away when you see it's photos of your old apartment, the haunting message that was painted on the wall, the trashed car, you and Marta in the hospital, you covered in cuts and bruises and blood, Jamie's lifeless body lying on the ground where Ransom choked him to death. 

Eric's voice is quiet once he's done going through the photos. The people in the jury seem horrified by what they were forced to see, but considering how important their job is for this case, they had to see it. You lived it, you don't want to see it again. You looked to Blanc the entire time, and he looked to you. His frown deepened with every new picture that was put up, but he focused on you instead of them. He must not have wanted to see them as much as you did.

"I have no further questions, Your Honor."

Judge Henry glances down at you, as though with different eyes, lingering on the cast your arm is still in. The only piece of visible evidence that you truly experienced what everyone was shown. "Does the defense have any questions?"

"I...we do, Your Honor."

Frank stands up, and for once, he doesn't seem so hostile as he walks up to you. "Miss Y/N, as I was listening to your story of how you came to meet my client, I realized you left out one part of your story."

You frown. "What is that?"

"That the two of you were in a relationship."

Your mouth drops open in shock as you look around Frank to Ransom. His face is blank, but his eyes are laughing. You can tell that he's never been so amused by something in his life. 

"That is _false,_ Mr. Wesley. I most certainly was _not_ in a relationship with Ransom Drysdale, platonic or romantic."

"Oh?" Frank raises a brow. "That's not what I heard. I was informed that the night that you went to 'check-in' on my client, just as Mr. Thrombey asked you to, you slept with Mr. Drysdale."

Your face heats up at the blatant accusation that you had sex with Ransom. "I would never have slept with someone like him!"

"Would you have instead with someone like your former client, Jamie Woodward?"

You can't help the hot, angry tears that build in your eyes. "You are _cruel,_ Mr. Wesley for suggesting such a thing." You turn to look at the jury, completely ignoring the asshole in front of you. "Jamie was my client, yes, and I did feel closer to him than my other clients, but I had been working with Jamie for over two years. I was invested in making sure that Jamie felt safe and secure in this world because that is my _job._ Hugh Drysdale took advantage of Jamie's kindness and insecurities and used them to his advantage, blackmailing and threatening his life as well as his loved ones." You take a breath, closing your eyes and steeling yourself before opening them back up and fixing them on Frank. He looks unsure of what to make of your outburst, but he hasn't stopped you from speaking, so you continue on. 

"When the police arrived at the house where Marta and I were being held, I thought Jamie was already dead. Jamie had slipped Marta and me his phone to call for help and Ransom punished him for doing so. He pushed his body down the stairs to lie in that basement without care. After Ransom had used my body as a shield to secure his escape from the house, Jamie jumped him in the kitchen and fought, trying to give me a chance to get away. Ransom ch-choked him to death." You cover your mouth as you feel tears start to stream from your eyes. "He _died_ helping me, all because of that man you're defending, Mr. Wesley. Do not insult his memory by painting him as someone he wasn't, when the person he truly was is a thousand times better than who Ransom will _ever_ be."

The courtroom is silent. If someone dropped a pin you would be able to hear it. 

"No further questions, Your Honor." Frank turns on his heel and quietly makes his way to his seat. Ransom appears unaffected by your tears, but some people in the jury are dabbing at their eyes. They should. They should mourn for the man that Jamie was and how he was taken from this world. 

"You're dismissed, Miss L/N."

You stand and make your way back to your seat. When you look over at Blanc he looks like he wants to jump up and run to your side, but he can't do that while the court is in session. You manage a weak attempt at a smile, something to reassure him that you'll be okay. Marta immediately reaches for you and has you sit close to her side, holding your hand comfortingly. There are tears in her eyes as well, just as affected as you are by what just happened. 

Eric addresses the judge. "The People call Louie Elliot to the stand." 

It's Louie's turn to sit in the chair, the last one that Eric had planned for the witness stand. You watch as Louie walks forward from the back and straight for the clerk. He goes through his own swearing-in process and then slips in behind the stand to take a seat. Once he's situated he folds his hands in his lap and waits patiently for his questioning to begin. 

"Louie," Eric starts, "where do you work?"

Louie clears his throat and leans a touch closer to the microphone in front of him. "I am a Lieutenant for the state police. I'm stationed at the headquarters in Boston."

"What is your affiliation with the defendant here today?"

Louie looks to Ransom. "I was called to investigate the death of his grandfather, Harlan Thrombey. It was officially ruled a suicide, but while we were there investigating we found that Hugh Drysdale also murdered the housekeeper, Fran Hazleton."

"And how did you find this out?"

A deep breath. "Marta Cabrera and Y/N L/N went to an abandoned laundromat to meet up with someone who reportedly had information on the death of Mr. Thrombey that they were going to use to blackmail the girls. While there, they instead found Miss Hazleton nearly dead with a lethal injection of morphine in her veins. The needle was still there. The two ladies called for an ambulance for Miss Hazleton, but it was too late. Shortly after that, Detective Benoit Blanc was questioning Mr. Drysdale when Miss Cabrera received a call that Miss Hazleton had died. She made it seem as though she hadn't, though, and managed to trick Mr. Drysdale into admitting he tried to kill Miss Hazleton."

Eric nods, his finger tapping against his chin. "And do you have proof of this?"

At this, Louie _smiles._

"My partner, Trooper Wagner, managed to record the moment on his phone." 

Eric walks over to the table and reaches into his briefcase, pulling out Trooper Wagner's phone. "Is this the phone?" Louie nods. "Your Honor, I would like to have this phone marked as people's exhibit number four and ask that it be admitted into evidence."

Judge Henry raises a brow at Frank. "Does the defense object?"

Frank eyes the phone cautiously, and you get the impression that he knew nothing of it. His answer is hesitant, as though he doesn't quite want to give it. 

"No, Your Honor."

Eric walks over and gives the phone to the clerk who puts a big fancy sticker on the back before handing it back to him. "And we have permission to access the audio recording?" Another nod from Louie. 

You watch as Eric walks over to a cord set up on the side and plugs it into the phone. He presses a button and suddenly there are voices playing through the speakers in the room. 

Your voice. Marta's voice. Blanc's, Ransom's, Louie's. Wagner managed to record _all_ of it.

_"--I killed Fran but I guess I didn't, so what do you have on me? Nothing. What? Attempted murder? I get arson for the bombing, maybe a few other charges, with a good lawyer I'll be out before you know it."_

With each word that continues to play through the speakers, the shade of Frank Wesley's skin gets paler and paler. Judging by the way Ransom's eyes have widened you can guess that he also must not have known about the phone, or at least _forgot_ about the evidence you had of him vocally admitting to murder.

Which if he's admitting to murder, then who's to say that he hasn't committed the other crimes he's been accused of?

As the audio finishes, the people in the crowd go _berzerk_ _._ They start talking over one another again, calling Ransom names and saying nasty things as the people in the jury scowl at Ransom. 

The one on the receiving end of this tongue lashing has gone still and silent, eyes empty as though there's nobody there at all. 

You've never felt lighter. 

"Order, order!" Judge Henry bangs his gavel until silence finally settles. "Mr. Gregory, are you finished?"

Eric turns smugly and nods to the judge. "No further questions your honor."

"The witness is excused." Louie stands and calmly walks back to his seat, but judging by the hidden smile he's wearing, he seems pretty happy with himself right now.

"Your Honor," Eric announces, "the People rest their case."

"Does the defense rest?"

Frank stares at his client for a few breaths before turning to the judge. "The defense rests, Your Honor."

It almost feels too easy, hearing Frank give in like that, but you can imagine that having auditory evidence of Ransom admitting to murder was something that he wasn't expecting and hadn't planned for. How does one argue with that?

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Judge Henry clasps his hands in front of him as he looks to the people seated off to the side, "I am now going to read to you the law that you must follow in deciding this case." He goes through the list, pointing out each thing that must be kept in mind for each crime that Ransom is being charged for, and boy is it ever a _long list._ "If each of you believes that the prosecution proved all of these things beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty. But if you believe the prosecution did not prove any one of these things beyond a reasonable doubt, then you must find the defendant not guilty."

Judge Henry takes a breath, appearing just as ready as the rest of you for this to be over. "Are you ready with your final arguments?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Eric says. 

Frank nods. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Mr. Gregory, you may proceed."

"Your Honor, ladies, and gentlemen of the jury," Eric says almost somberly, "as you have heard, what has happened here has been the cause of a mad man, someone who has committed unspeakable acts and shouldn't be allowed back with the civilized public. The judge has told you that we must prove all these things that have occurred. There is absolutely no question that we have done so today. The defendant has a similar build, size, and shape as required to leave such injuries on the victims as shown in the photos. The build of Jamie Woodward does _not_ match up and thus does not prove a credible alternative for Mr. Drysdale's argument. The defendant knew where Miss Cabrera and Miss L/N were going to be, having gained information throughout the years as well as through Miss L/N's client Mr. Woodward." 

As Eric continues to build up his final statement, it hits you: there's no possible way that Ransom is going to be getting out of this. The great and might lawyer he thought he hired wasn't enough to protect him from the evidence piled against him. 

"All of this shows that the defendant has done what he has been accused of. Based on the evidence, you must find the defendant guilty." Eric finishes addressing the jury and sits back down at your side, letting out a small puff of air. You know this must not be easy for him, but _damn_ if he isn't doing a great job.

Frank stands up and walks over to the jury. "Your Honor, ladies, and gentlemen of the jury: Hugh Drysdale was unlucky to get tied into a family drama that was televised and made to cause his downfall. Being tied in with a tangled web of lies and blackmail with a conniving mind such as Mr. Woodward's was something nobody would have been able to escape, especially with the way the evidence has been framed against him."

Hearing Frank come up with some bullshit excuse for Ransom is painful, to say the least. You _know_ the man must be aware that Ransom is guilty, and you _know_ that it's his job to protect Ransom, but you would never be able to have a clean conscience after trying to get a murderer free. 

"Is my client had intended to cause harm to Miss Cabrera and Miss L/N, then why involved Mr. Woodward? Why not do it on his own? Remember that under the law my client is presumed to be innocent. The prosecution must prove every part of its case beyond a reasonable doubt--that means that you must be very sure. My client is the only one who knows what manipulation they undertook to get to where they are today, and we provided evidence and argument to show why they are innocent of what happened. The prosecution has presented no real evidence to you to show that this is not true. That means that there is reasonable doubt and, therefore, you must find him not guilty."

"The jury may take their leave."

Judge Henry finishes speaking and you watch as all of the jurors file out of the room. Ransom is next, escorted out by his two guards, and then that leaves you and Marta to be led out by Eric back into the hallway. 

"Holy shit," you breathe out, placing your head in your hands. "That was good, right? Did I fuck things up? I wasn't expecting him to start accusing me of being in a relationship with Jamie and I--"

"Hey," Marta places her hands on your shoulders, stopping you from blabbering on, "you did great. Nobody was expecting you to stand up for Jamie like that, considering how he was involved in everything. It was touching, but it also showed that you cared for him."

"She's right," Eric says, "you wouldn't have been so adamant about Jamie's character if he had truly been the one to do all of those things to the two of you. It was Mr. Drysdale who was made to look more guilty because of the confession."

"Good, good," you let out a breath, feeling better because of their words. 

"Y/N?" You hear someone call your voice, and when you turn you see Blanc walking out of the doors. You start moving towards him before he sees you, but when he catches sight of you he meets you in the middle. You immediately wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, engulfing yourself in his warmth and comfort. He squeezes you just as tight to him and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

"You did much better than anticipated up there," he murmurs, drawing a half-laugh, half-sob out of you.

"Did you think I'd do bad?"

He looks down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in an amused smile. "I haven't met many people who are able to handle themselves in front of Mr. Frank Wesley. He's one of the best defense attorneys in the northern part of the country."

"He's an asshole, that's for sure."

That gets a laugh out of Blanc, and you feel yourself smiling at the sound of it. 

"Astute as ever in your observations, Dr. L/N."

"And here I thought _you_ were supposed to be the detective."

His eyes soften as he looks down at you. One of his hands gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I'm afraid I didn't know what being a successful detective was until I met you."

Your heart melts at his words, and you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He returns it enthusiastically, but you cut yourself off after a few moments so you don't appear indecent in a courtroom.

"Now all we have to do is give the jury time to reach a decision," Eric says, sitting on the bench. You and Blanc sit on another one, you tucked into his side with his arm around your back and hand gripping your hip. 

And so you wait.

* * *

"Will the jury foreperson please stand?" A young woman standing at the end of the jury stands, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hands in front of her. Judge Henry waits for her to still before speaking again. "Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

The clerk walks over and takes the paper from the woman, who seems relieved to be rid of it. The man takes it over to Judge Henry, who reads the decision quietly before making a note on the paper. He hands it back to the clerk who then turns and faces the people. 

You feel your stomach crawl up and settle in your throat. _This is it._

Four hours. That's how long it took for the jury to reach a decision. If you didn't know this was such a big deal, you would have almost compared it to twelve angry jurors--a play you watched in high school. 

Some people went to get food, but you were too antsy to stomach anything. You haven't eaten all day and it's catching up with you. Hopefully, you'll be able to eat something after this is all over. 

"All parties please stand."

You stand to your feet, an anxious fluttering humming throughout your body. Eric seems unmoved by it, but you can tell Marta is just as nervous as you are at your side. 

Ransom, to his credit, appears unfazed. As though he couldn't care if he is guilty or not guilty. It's a sort of quiet confidence that makes your skin crawl. 

The clerk holds the paper in front of him. Marta reaches over and laces her fingers through your own, this time seeking comfort from _you._ You're more than happy to give it to her. The two of you are in this together, from the very beginning to the very end, and now it's time to see how this will turn out. 

No matter what happens, you'll get through it together. 

"The jury finds the defendant...guilty."

A ringing starts in your ear. Your hand is squeezed so tight it feels like it's going to break but you don't do anything to stop it. Your arm is pulled and arms are thrown around your neck as someone hugs you tightly, but you're not sure whose arms they are. 

The ringing starts to fade and you realize that it's the people in the _crowd_ that are causing the high pitched screaming in your ears. They're cheering, clapping, celebrating the guilty verdict that has just been delivered to Ransom. Marta is the one squeezing you to death in a hug, nearly vibrating on the spot with excitement as she keeps going on about how it's _finally over._

"We did it," she says into your ear, utter relief coating her words, "we did it, Y/N, it's _over."_

"It's over," you say in near disbelief, "I can't believe it. We won."

"We did," she says, her voice catching. "He can't hurt us anymore."

You pull back and see tears in her eyes, and you're sure you have ones in your own as well. You turn around and pull Eric into a hug, startling the man with the sudden display of affection. You give him your thanks a million times over, and though he seems embarrassed by all the attention, he's grateful nonetheless. 

Marta hugs Eric next, and you take the time to look over to Ransom. His face is ashen, eyes unblinking as one of the guards reads him his rights. He truly wasn't expecting to be guilty. Slowly, as though he can feel you looking at him, he turns his head and locks eyes with you. 

As his features pull down into a scowl, you feel a smile fill your face. 

Because you won and he lost. 

"The jury is thanked and excused." Judge Henry seems relieved to be done with it all. "Sentencing will be on another date. Court is adjourned."

You watch with a sort of satisfaction you never thought you'd experience as the guards grab Ransom by his elbows and lead him out of the courtroom, Frank following behind him like a dog with his tail between his legs. 

And now there's someone else who you need to see.

"Ben," you whisper, searching for him through the throng of people standing from their seats and speaking with one another, celebrating another win for the justice system. "Ben! Benoit!"

There, working his way past the people and through the doors separating the people from those involved in the court case, he makes his way to you as fast as he can. You also move in his direction, eager to revel in this win with him, to revel in what this means for your future for the two of you. 

The two of you meet in the middle, your hands grasping handfuls of his coat as he threads his fingers in your hair and tilts your head back so he can give you a proper kiss, propriety in a courtroom be damned. 

In that kiss is all the worry, heartache, desperation, and fear that has been building inside the two of you while you waited for this day. For the moment when you would hear that you would no longer have to worry about Ransom Drysdale ever again. When he would be nothing more than a distant nightmare. 

He slants his mouth against your own, tongue slipping past your lips and reaching for the words of happiness that you haven't been able to voice yet. He steals your breath just as easily as he stole your heart, this man who has been your rock, been there for you, healed you, saved you, helped you in ways you never thought possible. 

_Loved_ you like you never thought possible. 

When he pulls back you take a deep breath of air even as he continues pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth. He grins against your lips, a small chuckle escaping him and reverberating into your own chest. 

"Does this mean we can get a proper dinner now?"

You laugh out loud at that. His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles down at you, laughing as well. 

"I quite liked our dinner."

"Then I'll just have to try to outdo myself, won't I?"

You shake your head, unable to keep the dopey grin off your face. "You continue to amaze me all the time, Benoit."

He gives you another fierce yet brief kiss when you say his name. "I could say the same for you, Dr. L/N." He leans his forehead against your own, all the other people in the courtroom fading away into the background until it's just as though you and he are the only ones here at this moment. "I could say the exact same."


	32. A Finality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Finally updating! This chapter is a little more of the filler kind--but it also gives you guys some insight into the future :) 
> 
> There will be maybe two more chapters, kind of. The next one is going to be extra special (if you know what I mean) and then an epilogue. So close to the end!
> 
> Thank you all for being with me on this journey. Love you guys <3

"Are you sure about this?"

You take a deep breath, giving her a weary smile but squeezing her hand confidently. "I think it's for the best."

She frowns at you. "But you love your job..."

"I do," you nod at Marta, agreeing with her observation, "but I can do something else. There are more possibilities for my future now." You let out a sigh. "And after what happened with Jamie...I don't know. My trust has changed."

She nods in understanding but you can tell that she still feels upset about your decision. "I just don't want you to regret this later on."

You smile coyly. "I don't think I will. Blanc and I have been talking, and he's helped me think of some new paths."

"Really?" She lifts her coffee cup to her lips and takes a sip. You nod, taking your hand back from hers and wrapping it around your own warm mug of tea. "And what might that be?"

You smile over the edge of your drink. "We've been talking about me getting my forensic psychology degree."

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. She looks excited at the idea of it. "Really?"

You nod, unable to keep the grin off your face. "I don't know if it's his biased opinion, but he thinks that having my professional psychological opinion into the minds of suspects helps him get a better idea of what's going on."

She gives you a look that screams 'bullshit', and you can't help but laugh at it. "And what did you say to that."

"I told him I wasn't trained in that area of expertise and that he was full of it."

She also starts laughing with you. You take a drink and then set the cup back down, leaning back in your chair.

"But do you _want_ to do it?"

You think over her words. You can't deny that the idea of working with Blanc, of getting to work with him while also using your skills and knowledge to help others really appeals to you. But are you rushing into a rash decision?

"I...I do. I just don't want something to happen later down the line that ruins everything."

Your friend looks at you sympathetically. "I don't think anything like that is going to happen. After everything that the two of you have gone through, seeing the way Blanc _looks_ at you?" She shakes her head. "I think it would be a bad idea if you _didn't_ do it."

You take a moment to digest her words. She's right--you would regret it if you didn't take advantage of this opportunity, and you need to stop fearing the unknown. It's holding you back. 

The café is quiet this early in the morning, with the before-work rush already gone and things finally starting to calm down. 

It's been two weeks since the court case and Ransom was found guilty. You got your arm cast off a week ago, and you're nearly completely healed from the damage that Ransom dealt on your body. It's refreshing to be able to move more than five feet without feeling an ache somewhere in your body. 

"So if you don't think you're qualified, then why are you leaving your job?"

You take a deep breath. "Because I think I _can_ be qualified. The thought of working with Blanc, of being able to help him with something like that...it excites me. A lot."

She loses some of the teasing look in her eye and her smile turns genuine. "That's really nice, Y/N, I'm happy for you."

"I figured you would be," you say back, "which is why I wanted you to be one of the first to know. I turned in my resignation last week."

"Last week!" 

You nod. "They were sad, and my last day isn't for another week yet, but they were more understanding than anything."

"I would hope so," she says wryly, "you work in a therapist's office."

Both of you laugh at that. One of the baristas, the same young man who took your order when you first arrived, walks over with a smile on his face. "How is everything?"

"Very good," you say, still trying to contain yourself. 

"Great," he looks over at Marta, "and how about yours?"

"Just fine, thank you."

"That's great. If you guys need anything else just let one of us know, okay?" He gives one last nod at her before turning and walking back behind the counter to where his coworker is waiting with a mischievous grin. 

"What was that about?" She asks, glancing at them before facing you once more. 

You laugh into your drink. "He wanted to give you his number."

Her eyes widen. "No!"

You nod your head, glancing out of the corner of your eye to see the two boys occasionally looking in your direction. There aren't many people in the café so there aren't many reasons they would need to be looking at the two of you.

"Joshua better watch out."

"Y/N--"

"He's got some competition."

"He does not!"

You start to giggle at her. "What is Trooper Moore doing today anyway?"

She sighs wistfully. "He's at work. He's going to swing by the house afterward and take me out for some dinner."

You raise a brow at her. "Really?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, and _no_ we're not going to spy on you and Blanc."

You sit back in your chair comfortably and cross your arms. "Should I trust you?"

"You can always trust me."

You give her a soft smile, taking her hand in yours once again. "I know."

"I'll always be here for you, Y/N."

"And I'll always be here for you, Marta."

"Can you imagine where we'd be right now if we'd never have met? If we'd never have met Harlan?"

You blow out a puff of air. "Probably sitting in my office doing paperwork."

"And I'd be hand-feeding someone in a rest home."

You give her a pointed look. "You talk like it's a bother, but we both know that you enjoy taking care of people. It's what brought you to Harlan in the first place."

"The same could be said about you. Harlan fought you enough about being there in the beginning."

"But I beat him enough at GO that I was able to change his mind, now wasn't I?"

The two of you laugh at that. From there on you begin to reminisce of memories that you haven't been able to think about for a long time. Though some of them are bittersweet now that the third person from your party is no longer here, it's the first you're able to do so without crying. You're able to talk about Harlan and laugh and be happy about it. 

And to be able to do so is like taking a breath of fresh air.

* * *

You finish putting the last teardrop earring in before looking in the mirror one last time. Your black dress isn't too fancy yet it's dressy enough that you think it will be good for whatever place Blanc is planning on taking you to. He didn't go crazy with the details so you had to try your best to plan for any situation, so you're hoping this is enough. It has long sleeves with a teasing amount of cleavage showing and a slit up the right side of your leg. Sexy _and_ classy.

You adjust your hair one more time, making sure the slight curls you worked on stay in place. The shoes you decided to wear were a little more flashy, some high heels that have straps wrapping delicately around your ankles. The dress is just a little bit below the knee, so they're still showing off. You almost went for something longer, because the weather isn't getting any warmer, but you want to show off to Blanc. You want to give him something to look at. 

And look he does. 

"Dear, are you ready yet?" 

Blanc's voice calls for you from down the stairs. You're still staying at the Cabrera's since you're finalizing the sale on your own home and haven't started to buy any furniture yet. You're hoping that within the next few weeks you'll be able to officially start moving into your own place, your own _home._

Blanc, bless his soul, has only gone back to his own apartment a few different nights since the court date. He's always welcome at the mansion, and thankfully he's not bashful about wanting to be around you and the others. The two of you sleep in the room that was originally his, since that one has a bigger bed, and he doesn't seem to get tired of being around you. In fact, it's like he can't get _enough_ of you. During your turmoil about the future of your profession, he was there to talk things through with you, help and guide you on what your future paths may hold. It was nice not having to be certain about the future because Blanc told you that not everything _is_ set in stone.

_"I feel like I'm in college all over again, having to decide something for the rest of my life."_

_"Oh, Sweetheart," he chuckles, cupping your cheek tenderly in his hand, "nothin' in the future is ever certain. You have a...an advantage that most people don't get, and because of that you can do whatever it is that you wish. You can go back to work," he softens as you tense up at the idea, "or you can choose a different path. It doesn't matter what you choose, so long as you're happy with it."_

_You let out a sigh, feeling reassured by his words. "I know. And I know technically I don't need to even_ have _a job, but I can't just do nothing with my life. I've always wanted to help people, and if I don't do that...then I have no purpose."_

_Blanc hums, peering at me as he thinks over my words. "I see. Well, there's only one solution, however temporary it may be, that I can think of."_

_You look at him curiously. "What's that?"_

_"Work with me."_

_You blink at him in surprise. "This again?"_

_He laughs at your question. "Yes, this again. I'm afraid that the first time I said it was no jest. I would be humbled to have someone with your insight into the human mind as a consultant."_

_You're flattered by his offer, truly, but you never really gave any serious thought to it. "Ben, I--"_

_"Just think about it," he says softly, not wanting to hear your protests, "just an idea, hm?"_

_"Okay," you acquiesce, "I'll put a pin in it."_

_"A big pin?"_

_You laugh, watching how he smiles in return at the sound of it. "The biggest one I have."_

_"Good," he murmurs and leans forward, asking for a kiss. You're more than happy to oblige._

"Y/N?"

"On my way!" You shout back, grabbing your jacket and new phone off the top of the table before heading out the door. You walk down the hallway and to the top of the stairs. You can see Blanc standing at the bottom of the steps, dressed in a black suit and looking at his watch. One of his hands is held behind his back as he patiently waits for you. You smile and can't help but appreciate how damn _good_ he looks dressed up like that. He normally dresses in a shirt and tie, but this? It's fancy and handsome and you just can't stop _looking_ at him.

You let out a whistle as you start moving down the steps, and his head lifts in your direction at the sound. His eyes widen and a grin splits across his face at your sight. "I've seen you dressed up before, Ben, but for some reason, this feels different."

He holds out a hand as you get closer and you don't hesitate in taking it, allowing him to help you down the last few steps. 

"And you, my dear, are a beauty to behold."

You blush at his words and allow him to pull you in for a quick kiss. "Okay," you say once you force yourself to separate from him, "we need to get going before we're late for our reservation for _wherever_ it is that you're taking me."

He laughs. He pulls his other hand out from behind his back and holds out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. You gasp, surprised by his chivalrous gift. "Blanc!"

"Wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't bring the lady flowers."

You give him another kiss, lingering a little longer this time. "You shouldn't have. They're gorgeous."

"Reminded me of you."

You blush and smack him on the chest while he laughs. Though he's being cheeky, you can tell from the soft smile on his face that he's pleased with your reaction.

"Come," he says after you've put the flowers in a vase and they're now proudly displayed on the kitchen table. Together the two of you head outside to your car. He opens your door for you and helps you in first before climbing in behind the wheel and starting the vehicle. "It'll be worth the wait, I promise."

* * *

Blanc ends up taking you to a small, remote restaurant almost an hour away. It's in a town that you've only ever passed through, mainly because you never thought there was anything there. It's near a bay, sitting on the edge of the water and facing the lights of the other buildings. There aren't many cars parked outside, though for the population of the area it makes it feel like a lot more. 

Inside the restaurant gives off a genuine Italian feeling, from the structure, decorations, and sounds to the smells that are wafting through the air. It's cozy and makes your mouth start to water. 

"This is adorable," you can't help but gush over the place, noting the satisfied smile on Blanc's face, "how did you find it?"

He opens his mouth to answer my question when loud laughter suddenly echoes around the corner. An older man with rosy cheeks and a short frame walks towards us, deep in conversation with the woman at his side. When he sees the two of you he stops, his eyes lighting up and moving quickly in your direction. 

"Detective Blanc!" He shouts happily, enthusiastically taking his hand and shaking it in his own. "So good to see you again! I thought that was your name on the reservation list."

"Of course it was," the woman, tall and with a slender frame at his side says teasingly, her brown eyes smiling at the two of you, "how many people do you know with the name Benoit?"

"Angelo," Blanc greets the man warmly, "I was in need of some good food so I knew just where to come."

"Oh, but of course!" Angelo laughs, and you feel yourself warm-up at the sound of it. It's obvious this man is someone who's easy to get along with. "And who is this beautiful woman with you?"

You blush as the attention switches to you. Blanc places his hand on the small of your back. "This is Dr. Y/N L/N, my date for the evening."

"Date!" Angelo exclaims, throwing Blanc a wink that does nothing but makes your face even hotter. "And a doctor! My, my, Blanc, you sure do know how to pick them!"

"This is Angelo Finelli and his wife, Loraine. I solved a minor...problem for them a few years ago."

"Minor!" Angelo scoffs at the wording. "The detective here saved me my restaurant! Someone was blackmailing me for something I hadn't even done, and he was the one to find out it was one of my waiters. Can you imagine! Right in front of me!"

You feel tense at his words, and Blanc immediately notices. He rubs his hand comfortingly up and down your back. "Is our table ready, Angelo?"

"Yes," Loraine steps in for her husband, picking up on the subtle change in mood, "right this way."

Thankfully things from there on out calm down, and you begin to enjoy yourself once again. You order a Caprese salad with pesto sauce, and Blanc gets carbonara. The food is some of the most delicious stuff you've ever eaten, and the awkward moment from before is easily forgotten. 

The two of you talk about everything that comes to mind, sharing a nice conversation similar to the one you and Marta had that same morning. Blanc makes you laugh more than you feel like you have in a while, and you haven't seen him this relaxed since...ever. It's nice. It's almost like a glimpse into the possible future in front of you. 

There's no doubt in your mind that you love this man in front of you. After everything the two of you have been through, how he didn't just leave after shit hit the fan the first time, it's a testament to his character. To how he's not like the other men that you've known before, that you've been in a relationship with. He was there with Harlan's case, he continued to dig for the truth even though things were clearly pointing to Marta being guilty, but he _knew_ something was wrong. He waited. And then he was there after Ransom was proven guilty. He was the one who showed up at your apartment after it was broken into, your protector taking you to and from work each day, the one who came to the rescue when Ransom had you and Marta in that awful basement. 

He, quite honestly, is your knight in shining armor. 

"Today has been something else," you say, taking a sip from your wine, "and it almost feels too good to be true."

"Don't try to jinx yourself when there's no reason to do so," he places his fork and knife on his plate, finished with his food. "I hope this dinner has managed to live up to the first one."

You hum, thinking over his words. "So far it's been good," you look at him under your lashes, "and I'm hoping it only gets better."

He stares at you, eyes slowly getting heated as he adjusts the collar of his shirt around his neck. "We'll have to see what we can do. I would _hate_ to disappoint a lady such as yourself."

You grin and he reaches across to take your hand in his own, rubbing his thumb across the back of your knuckles. It's soothing and yet heats your body up in the subtlest of ways at the same time. 

"I must ask," Blanc says, but you can tell by his tone that it's almost as though he hates to change the subject onto something else, "but I was wondering if you gave any more thought into my...earlier proposition."

You let out an airy laugh. "Of course you are."

He squeezes your hand. "Must say, though I'm used to keeping others in suspense when it comes to revelations, it's odd being on the receiving end of such a similar situation."

"Well, Marta and I had an interesting talk this morning."

"You told her about possibly leaving your job?"

"Yes."

"And how did she take it?"

"She was supportive. Just like I knew she would be." You look down at your hands on the table. "And she helped me realize that...I can do a lot of good. The same that I would have done if I had stayed at my job."

"Had stayed?" He obviously is trying to hide the hopefulness out of his voice, but it's still there.

You grin, lifting your eyes to meet his. "I turned in my resignation last week, so I'm no longer working at that therapist's office anymore."

He looks conflicted. He wants to be happy that you're no longer there because then that means you're one step closer to being by his side, but he's also sympathetic to the fact that you're no longer going to be working at a place that you _loved._

"Are you sure about that decision?"

You take a deep breath. "I am. It was time. I don't think...I can't be in that situation anymore. I'll never be able to build a relationship like that and have trust anymore. Not after Jamie."

Blanc frowns for the first time all night. "I'm sorry about that, Sweetheart. I know you loved your work."

"I did," you agree, "but I love being with you, too, Benoit. And that's why I'm going to accept your offer."

His face lights up as he sits straight in his chair. "Truly?"

You smile brightly, laughing as he grows more excited in his seat. "I am. I'm going to go back to school, but...I would love to work along your side, Ben."

"That...that's the best news I've heard in a long time, Dr. L/N." He takes a deep breath, shaking his head as he looks at you almost like he can't believe you're real. "You're truly something else. Though my life is always full of surprises, it's _you_ who seems to catch me off guard."

You don't know how to take his confession. "You really didn't think I would take your offer?"

He shrugs. "It's obvious to anyone who knows you that you love helping people."

"And I can do just that with you." You take a deep breath. "I love you. And if you want me to be by your side, then I'll be there."

He inhales sharply, hand gripping your own tightly. "I love you, Y/N, more than you might believe." 

Your eyes start to water as the feelings that Blanc causes in you rise to the surface. 

"Well," you say, trying not to choke up with emotion, "I think this dinner just might be better than the first one."

He stands to his feet and buttons his suit jacket closed before moving to your side and holding his hand out to you. 

"Are you ready to go?" His voice is low and his eyes are full of promise. You don't hesitate in taking his hand and standing to your feet, stepping close and ignoring the looks that the few other people in the restaurant throw your way. 

"With you?" You lean close and press a soft, delicate kiss to his lips. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, curling his free hand around the back of your neck and holding you close. He brushes his nose against your own and you let out a blissful sigh. "Always."


	33. A Wonderful Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING*
> 
> This chapter is what you guys were ~patiently~ waiting for. It's very little plot (like none at all) and then pure smut.
> 
> This was written by someone who prefers reading such a thing to writing it, so please don't judge ah ha ha. I'm also currently dealing with corona (I did catch it, unfortunately) and so writing something like this while also dealing with that isn't the easiest thing in the world.
> 
> Epilogue is coming soon! Thank you all for the reviews/kudos/love!

Blanc doesn't take you back to the house the same way that you left. In fact, he doesn't go back to the house at all. When you start to drive down a road that you know leads to his apartment, you look over at him questioningly. He simply smiles to himself and continues facing the road, completely aware that you're watching him. 

"Why aren't we going back to the house?"

"Although I enjoy being around that family, I would like to have you to myself for the night and I would hate to ask the others to leave their own home."

You're touched by his thoughtfulness and the _reasoning_ behind it makes you squirm slightly in your seat. You lean on the armrest between the two of you, chin in hand, and watch him. He glances at you out of his periphery and smirks, reaching over and placing his right hand on your knee. The contact warms you even through the dress, and you feel a pleasant shiver go up your spine. 

"If you keep looking at me like that," he says without taking his eyes off the road, "then I'm going to have to stop this car. I'd much rather wait until we get to our destination before doing anything."

You laugh and his smile widens, aware of what effect he has on you. He squeezes your leg and you place your own hand over the top of it, keeping it firmly in place as if to say _I want you here._

For some reason that you're not quite sure of, Blanc drives faster after that. 

When you finally arrive at Blanc's apartment, he's quick to get out and around to your side before you have the chance to open the door yourself. He helps you out just as he did before, only this time he pulls you tight into his side and keeps you there as the two of you walk up to his front door. He opens his door quickly and allows you to step inside first before following after and shutting the door behind him. 

You reach out and turn the light switch on, pausing when you see the sight in front of you. His apartment is clean, which not saying it usually isn't, but it's _particularly_ clean right now. 

"Blanc, did you _plan_ to bring me back here this whole ti--"

You turn to ask Blanc your question but are promptly cut off when he simply tosses his keys onto the kitchen table and practically _lunges_ at you. One of his hands comes up to firmly grasp the back of your neck while the other holds your hip in a borderline bruising grip. He presses his lips to your, briefly catching you off guard with the overwhelming _want_ that seems to have overcome him. Your back hits the wall and jars you, making you grunt into his kiss. 

He pulls back, eyes wide as he takes a deep breath. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," you answer quickly and then reach out and pull his lips back to your own. His tongue brushes against your lips and you part them, giving him access. He swipes it across your teeth and against your own tongue, the overpowering linger of wine from the restaurant filling your tastebuds. 

"I apologize," he says breathlessly, pulling away far enough to speak as you continue to skim your lips over the stubble on his cheek and jaw, "about the...abruptness of our current events." He groans when you scratch your nails up the nape of his neck and over his scalp through his short hair, feeling the way it softly tickles your palms. "But I must admit that I've been eagerly anticipating this moment and I fear my patience is quite thin."

"That makes two of us," you whisper hotly in his ear, and he turns his head to catch your lips once more. He starts to lead you back down the hall, taking care to make sure that you don't bump into anything or stumble along the way.

He doesn't bother flickering the light on when you finally make it into his bedroom, just continues moving until the backs of your knees are hitting the edge of his bed. He tightens his hold on your waist so you don't suddenly fall and gently lowers you, following you the whole way down. Once you're seated he straightens back up and starts removing his jacket and tie, and you reach down to get started on the straps of your shoes. 

"No," he says, tossing his tie to the side and crouching in front of you, "let me."

Your face flushes but you stay silent and allow him to do what he wishes. He reaches out and takes one of your feet, carefully undoing the clasp and sliding the heel off, his hands warm against your chilled skin and sending goosebumps up and down your flesh. He presses a kiss to your knee and then moves onto the other shoe, doing the same with it and also pressing a kiss to that knee. You think that's going to be the end of it, but he catches you off guard when he starts to skim his lips past your knee and up your thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh and squeezing it appreciatively. 

"Blanc," you whisper, feeling the warmth that had been building inside of you for some time now start to pool lower in your belly. He lifts his eyes, and you can't help but notice that they appear brighter in the pale moonlight that streams in from his window. 

"Shh," he murmurs, continuing higher and higher up your leg, pressing a kiss here and there, "let me make you feel good, Sweetheart."

You let out a shaky breath as he starts pushing the hem of your dress up until it's over your hips and your panties are on full display. You weren't sure if you should go with something fancy or not, so you went with something safe and wore a black satin set of lingerie that matches your dress. Judging by the way that Blanc can't keep his eyes off of it and is rubbing his thumb across your pubic bone you can tell that he must like it. 

"It's not very gentlemanly of me," he says quietly and leans forward until you can feel his hot breath _right there,_ "but I've thought of this far more times than one might deem appropriate. _Dreamt_ of it. Thought of it at night when you would lay there in my arms, smellin' so good and lookin' so innocent." 

Your heart rate picks up with each word that falls from his mouth in that deep southern drawl of his. He slides one finger underneath the elastic of your panties, your skin hypersensitive to his touch and it makes you suck in a sharp breath. His eyes flicker up to you for one brief moment, smiling at your movements. He drags his finger down until it's just barely ghosting over the outside of your lips and he sucks on his teeth. 

"These need to go. They're awfully pretty and I'd hate for my impatience to be the cause of their demise."

You lift your hips and allow him to slide them down your legs, and suddenly you're lying on the bed, bare from the waist down with Blanc kneeling between them and looking up at you. He maintains eye contact as he slides his hands up the backs of your legs and softly but firmly ushers them apart, allowing him to fit in better. "Just like that," he coos as your hands grab fistfuls of his bedspread as the anticipation begins to build, "such a good girl doin' what I want without a single word."

You let out a groan and drop flat on your back on the bed, unable to look at his lust-filled gaze any longer. It's shortly after that when you feel his finger slowly drag across your lips again, this time starting at the bottom and slowly adding pressure until they spread and he slips in between them, spreading your wetness around and creating even more in the process. You gasp as he continues doing that, adding more pressure and then lingering once he gets to your clit, circling his finger around it and teasing it with the barest of touches. 

"Benoit--" you bite, and then you feel him finally put his mouth on you. 

You let out a soft cry, your hips jumping on the bed as the searing heat of his mouth meets your core, his tongue far less bashful than his finger was. The hand that isn't holding your hip down on the bed in place moves under his chin and pries your lips apart so that he can slip his tongue out and begin to lick you _up, down, up, down._ He repeats the same motions with his tongue that he had previously been doing with his finger, but it's stronger, more intense, and steals your breath right from your lungs. 

He uses his finger to slide right up to your entrance and _achingly slowly_ push its way in, continuing to feast as he adds the extra stimulation. You can't help the cry that escapes your lips at the feeling, and he pauses, chuckling at your obvious torment. 

"Tease," you breathe out, lifting your head enough to glare down at him. He smirks and closes his mouth around your clit in response before suckling on it. The sensation makes you fall back against the bed with another cry as you unconsciously grind your hips into his face. 

"I'll just have to make it up to you, now won't I?" He asks lowly as he slips another finger inside of you alongside the first one. Though two fingers isn't necessarily a lot, you've definitely noticed that Blanc has thick fingers and it has been a while since you've done anything like this. He scissors his fingers, stretching you, before he begins leisurely moving them in and out. He puts his mouth back on your lips and continues to move his tongue, lapping at you like he's a dying man who hasn't had anything in weeks.

"Blanc..." you pant, beginning to feel that wondrous precipice climb closer and closer as he picks up the speed of his fingers, focusing his tongue on your clit as he also notices how worked up you're getting. "I-I'm gonna--"

"Do it," he says, taking one brief moment to speak, "let me hear you, Sweetheart."

You reach your orgasm, gasping his name as you can't help but clench your thighs tight around his touch before forcing yourself to release them so you don't accidentally crush him. 

"I believe I can say with confidence that one of my new favorite places to be is buried between your legs," he places tender kisses to the insides of your thighs, as if acknowledging how you were so careful with him down there, and removes his fingers from inside you, "and one of my favorite sounds is you saying my name in that voice." He stands up and begins crawling up your body, caging you in by putting his arms and legs on either side of your body. 

You smile up at him and cup his cheek in your hand. You caress his cheekbone, noting the way his lips are still shiny from his attentions. 

"Now," he drawls, "I want to get you out of that dress and _really_ show you how much I love you."

You grin up at him. "You don't have to tell me twice."

You sit up and grab the hem of your dress, lifting it up and over your head while he leans back and begins to undo the buttons on his shirt. He pauses when you're left in your bra, his shirt now completely undone and resting on his shoulders. You reach forward and rest one hand on the bare skin of his chest that's in front of you, feeling the warm skin and the way his heart beats against your palm. You've always known that Blanc was strong, but here you can _see_ and _feel_ the sinewy muscles of his pectorals, down his abdomen and over his hard stomach. He flexes beneath your touch, and the way his breathing grows labored you can tell he's enjoying it. 

You push the shirt off his shoulders and he lets it slip down his arms so he can fling it off the bed entirely. You gape at his imposing form, finding your mouth dry as he continues to become more and more enticing to you. 

"You can do more than just look," his voice is sultry as he takes your hand and presses it back to his chest, "your touch makes me feel like no other, Y/N."

You curl your hands around his back and pull him close into a kiss, pressing your body against his half-naked one. He's so _warm_ in your grasp and firm beneath your touch that you can't seem to get enough of him. 

You had dreamed of this happening, quite literally actually, but now that it's actually happening it's unlike anything you've experienced before. You and Blanc have only been doing things fora short period of time and already you've enjoyed yourself more than with any previous partner. It doesn't help that Blanc is one of the most handsomest men you've ever seen before in your life. 

His pants are the next thing you work on while his hands slip around to your back and undo the clasp of your bra. He doesn't hesitate in pushing it off your body while you pop the button of his slacks and move quickly to get them past his hips and to what you _really_ want. 

He leans down and attaches his lips to your bare breast, the contrast between the warm air and the heat of his mouth making your nipples grow. He skims down until he can wrap his lips around your left one while his hand moves up to grab a fistful of your right, squeezing and molding the flesh there. You let out a groan, already feeling yourself recuperating from your first orgasm and ready to go again. Your hand moves of its own accord and slips right past his waistband and down to cup his cock, instantly causing him to still against you as he lets out a deep groan. The sound reverberates through your breast and into your own body, making you tighten your grip.

"Shit," he curses, pulling back to quickly shuck his pants off until the two of you are now completely naked on the bed. You can't stop your eyes from immediately looking down just the same as you couldn't stop the sun from rising in the morning. 

The first thing that pops into your mind is that Blanc looks even bigger than he felt in your hand. And he felt _large._

"Like what you see?" He pants, and you look up to see him grinning widely at you. He's proud to be able to render you speechless, you can tell. 

To get back at him for his comment, you raise a brow and stroke up and down his length, watching his features tighten as you begin to give him the same pleasure he gave you. 

"Like what you feel?" You ask cheekily, and he manages a weak chuckle. He leans down and kisses you in response to your question, trying to take control by back sliding his tongue into your mouth and sucking on your teeth. He's hard, achingly so in your hand. You slide your hand to his tip and spread the precum that had begun to build at the end around with your thumb, drawing another gratifying sound from him. You pull away from his kiss and go to bed down to put your mouth on him but he stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder, pushing until you're once more lying on your back on the bed. You look up at him in confusion, not sure why he stopped you from returning the favor he did for you earlier. 

"As much as I would love for you to do that," he says, running his hand down your front, lingering between your breasts and then circling your belly button before taking himself in hand and running his cock up and down between your lips, slicking himself up with your wetness that's already pooled there from his earlier ministrations, "I'm afraid I won't last very long if you do so." He gives a weak laugh, smirking as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Another time?"

You giggle and nod, liking how he's already planning ahead for the future. 

"I hate to pause but I need to grab a condom from my nightstand."

"I'm on the pill," you explain, too impatient to wait for him to get the condom on, "and I'm clean. If you're clean then I'm good to go."

He smiles. "I've been ready, babygirl."

With that he begins to push his length inside you slowly enough that you're able to adjust to it, but still fast enough that he manages to take your breath away. You tense up beneath him and he pauses, a brief look of concern flitting over his face. 

"Am I hurtin' you?"

You shake your head quickly. "No, no. Just bigger than I thought you would be. Keep going."

"Well," he grunts as he pushes himself in the rest of the way until his pelvis is touching yours, "I'll try not to let my ego become too inflated from such a compliment."

You would make a retort, but he chooses that moment to pull back until he's nearly completely out of you and then slams back in, shaking you on the bed and stroking your walls in such a way that your toes curl. His hands latch onto your hips and hold you in place as he pounds into you. If you thought that Blanc was going to go easy on you, you were _wrong._ His jaw tenses as he picks up speed, eyes latched onto the area where the two of you are joined. 

You grab hold of his arms, feeling the muscles tense and twitch beneath you, and that's when he looks up at you. There's a hungry look in his eye and he takes his left hand up to your jaw, holding it in place while he slips two of his fingers past your lips. 

You happily open up and accept him into your mouth, sucking on his fingers while he grins appreciatively. "Such a pretty picture in front of me," he says, his voice stuttering with each thrust inside of you, "could look at it all day." You take your legs and wrap them around his hips, your feet crossing behind his back and unconsciously trying to pull him even deeper inside of you.

He takes his fingers from your mouth and slides down to your throat, pressing his thumb and fingers on either side and squeezing gently, forcing you to focus on nothing but his touch both outside _and_ inside. 

Had it been any other person, this would have made you panic. You would have freaked out and thought that the person meant you harm, that it was too close to the attack you had suffered through, but this is _Blanc._ This is the man you love. 

And it's also incredibly _hot_ that he does it. 

He must see the pleased look in your eye because he leans down and kisses you as you lay like that, sprawled beneath him and being absolutely ruined by his cock as he continues to fuck you on his bed. 

No, not fuck. Doing this with Blanc isn't as simple as fucking someone else. Though he's being passionate and intense, he's also being considerate of you and how you feel and your own pleasure. He made sure to make you feel good first before he even thought of letting you try to do something in exchange for him. Even now, with his hand on your throat, you know that if you gave him one look or made one wrong sound that he would immediately stop to make sure you're okay. 

But you don't _want_ him to stop. 

"Harder," you whisper, feeling your eyes roll back in your head as he listens to your request and picks up the pace while also tightening his grip around your throat just a little bit. Your pleasure builds inside you once more, faster and more intense than the first time. 

Blanc takes his other hand and places it on your clit, circling it like he did before but fast and in similar to the fashion that he moves in your body. The added stimulation pushes you to the edge and you fall for the second time this night, a strangled cry escaping you as your vision turns white and the world fades away beneath your fingertips. 

You can vaguel feel Blanc continue to move, picking up and then he stills, leaning down to capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss as he spills inside of you. He removes his hand from your throat and moves closer, hovering over your body and taking deep breaths in order to reorient himself. He kisses your cheek and moves from on top of you to his side on the bed so he doesn't crush you with his weight. He's still inside you and judging by the way he curls his arms around your waist and tugs you into his side, he doesn't seem on losing that connection anytime soon. 

"You," he breathes, pressing a kiss to your forehead and nuzzling his nose alongside yours, "are truly a treasure, Dr. L/N."

"And _you_ didn't pull out," you joke with him, earning a smile that warms your heart and a laugh that you want to hear all the time. He reaches down and strokes over your stretched entrance where he's still content to be, and you inhale sharply at the strong sensations such a small touch brings you. The touch continues around your hip to your ass where he grabs a hold and squeezes, a pleased sound in the back of his throat. 

"It's quite nice," he murmurs, threading the fingers of his other hand through your hair and tipping your head back until you are tilted up towards his face, "I think I'll stay for a while."

You suck in a shaky breath and smile, leaning forward to kiss him, softer and more gentle than the mood was just a few moments ago. You pull away and snuggle into his embrace, feeling warm and safe and _loved._ Happier in this moment that you ever knew was possible, and you don't want it to ever end.

"I think I'm okay with that."


	34. An Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is...the end. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your support, your love, and for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Feel free to check out my tumblr--I post updates and other such things there! I'll leave a link here if you're interested. 
> 
> Enjoy, and know that I love you guys. <3
> 
> https://meobsessions.tumblr.com/

_Two Years Later_

* * *

"Excuse me, ex-excuse me," someone steps in front of you and you stop, letting out an annoyed huff. _"Excuse me."_

The person turns around, startling themselves when they see you standing there. They move and you walk past towards the yellow tape spread out in front of you. There are more people gathered outside than you were expecting, but when there's a tragedy there's bound to be a gossip-hungry crowd. The officer standing on the other side of the yellow tape grins as you walk up, instantly lifting the tape so you can pass underneath. 

"Hello, Doc."

"Joshua," you murmur, smiling back at him. You don't stop to chat, already running late as it is. There are officers everywhere, some on the lawn out front and some moving in and out of the front doors of the house. You nod in greeting to some of them as you slide past, already knowing where to go. 

There are voices talking from all angles, cameras flashing as crime scene investigators take pictures of practically everything, and then you see him. Standing off to the side speaking with Louie, he meets your eye and he immediately softens. Louie turns and looks at you as well, a look of understanding on his face as you walk up to the pair. 

"Hi Louie," you nod at him as you stand at Blanc's side. His hand flexes at his side like he wants to reach out and touch you, but both of you know this isn't the place for affection. 

That was one of the rules you made him agree upon once you graduated with a master's in forensic psychology. If you were to work with him, then you would be his colleague, not his girlfriend. Once you enter the premises of a crime scene you're professional--but once you're not on the clock you're all his. 

And he's all yours. 

"Glad to know you could finally join us," Louie says sarcastically, but there's no real bite to it. He knows why you were late. "He's in here."

Louie leads you down the hall as you and Blanc walk side-by-side. He takes a deep breath in. "How was it?"

You shrug. "It was...fine. As fine as I could imagine it would've been, at least."

At this Blanc does reach over and squeeze your hand, just a fleeting bit of comfort before taking his hand back. You're more relieved by the touch than anything. 

"I'm not sure if Walt will ever forgive Marta and me for not giving him control of Blood Like Wine, but Linda...she's more amicable with us. I think it's more guilt than anything, but at least she's making an effort. When she asked to meet us for lunch I was surprised, but it's not like I was going to say no. Have you ever tried to say no to Linda Drysdale?"

He snorts. "I have, and it was quite difficult."

You sigh. "Meg said we shouldn't have talked to her at all, but...I can't blame her for anything. And I think we're finally at a point where she's starting to really accept everything that's happened." The two of us stop just outside the next room as Louie disappears inside, giving us a moment of privacy. "When Harlan was alive, Linda always treated us like we were supposed to be there. She never faked anything, I'll give her that much."

"She certainly made her opinion well known, I do agree," Blanc says with a touch of humor. He takes a breath and gestures inside the room. "Shall we?"

I step inside first and take a few steps so that Blanc gets in as well before shutting the door behind him. We're in a small room, barely a little bigger than a closet. Considering the size of the house, the fact that this bedroom is so small is the first thing that makes you uneasy. 

The second thing you notice is _bland_ the room is. There's a bed, a small dresser, a tiny desk with various items sitting on it...but that's it. The items are things you're pretty certain are for school. A notebook, a calculator, and a book. Nothing too extreme. 

You turn your attention to the main reason you're here in the first place. The little boy sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet not touching the floor and his hands clasped together in his lap. He's small, which is surprising given Louie told you he's around ten years old. 

No, not small--malnourished. His bony fingers and sunken eyes tell you more than words ever could. 

When Blanc had called you this morning asking you to stop by around 1, you weren't exactly _shocked,_ just a little...surprised, since he knew you were meeting with Linda. You knew he wouldn't have even asked if he didn't need your help. but that's fine. You're partners. If he needs you, then you'll be there. 

A man had been found dead in his house when he never showed up to work. Living in an expensive neighborhood like this one, people notice things--especially if something has happened to someone who has a hefty amount of money.

You've started to realize this. 

Luke's father was found dead in the living room while the boy was at school. All courtesy from a nosy neighbor who just so happened to be walking their dog close to one of the windows. 

Thankfully Luke wasn't there to see his father's body, surrounded by alcohol and other drug-related substances and covered in puncture marks from a needle. To any outside person it looks like a standard overdose, but when Louie felt something was off he called Blanc in. And then when the man's son refused to talk, he called you in. 

"Luke, this is Dr. L/N. She just wants to talk to you, okay?"

A tiny, almost imperceptible nod. You take a deep breath. "Hi, Luke. Is this your room?"

Another nod. You bite your lip, trying to hide your frown. Not that he would see it anyway--he's still staring at the ground. You turn to Blanc and Louie, who are silently standing in the tiny room. Suddenly it feels too crowded. 

"Can you guys give us a few minutes alone?" You ask quietly. The two men share a look before turning and departing silently, Blanc giving you one last look before shutting the door again. You turn back to Luke, dragging the chair over from his desk and sitting down across from him. He remains silent, so you take the initiative to speak. 

"So, Luke," you say softly, "do you wanna tell me something about yourself? What do you like to do?"

He doesn't move. Maybe you should start smaller. "What's your favorite color?"

His eyes briefly lift before going back to the ground. Okay, that's something. 

"Well..." you start, "my favorite color is purple. Or maybe blue. They're both really pretty, don't you think?" 

A tiny nod. You smile a little bit. "Which do you like more, purple or blue?"

"...blue."

"Blue is very pretty, isn't it?" He nods, a little more this time. You take a deep breath. Small talk and trying to raise Luke's spirits aren't really getting anywhere, so you decide to try a different approach. "Luke, do you know what happened with your father?"

Luke seems to stiffen even more on the bed in front of you. His shoulders lock up and though you feel the old therapist in you wanting to back off, you know that doing so would only lead you nowhere. If Luke doesn't want to talk about simple things, then maybe facing the problem head-on will work better. 

"He's dead."

The tone of his voice is cold, and you can't help but frown. You don't sense any remorse in it, no sadness. Just...acceptance. It's like he's stating the weather and it's left a bad taste on his tongue. 

"Yes, he is." You look around the room, once more noting how tiny it is. Certainly not a bedroom for a growing boy. "Do you know where your father worked?"

A shrug. "He never really told me."

"Did he tell you anything?"

Another shake of his head. "Did he have a girlfriend, someone he was seeing?"

Luke's eyes lift at that question, locking with your own for a moment before he looks over to his desk. "Not since mom left."

Your heart tugs for the boy in front of you. It's obvious he isn't happy, probably hasn't been in a while. "How long ago was that?"

"I was little when she left."

"Do you know where she is now?"

Another shake of his head. You lean back in your chair, thinking over his words. 

"...Rebecca has been coming over a lot."

So quiet you almost miss it, he confesses something that's obviously hard for him to say. You slowly uncross your legs and sit up straighter. "Who's Rebecca?"

"My babysitter."

"Has she been coming over even when your father has been here?" He nods. "Can you tell me more about Rebecca?"

Luke looks back to his hands in his lap. "She's watched me since before I was in school. Then she started coming over more to help with me, said my dad was too busy to do stuff himself. I thought she was here for me, but she'd spend all her time with him anyway."

"I see," you murmur, "and do you know where Rebecca is now?"

"School," he says plainly. You blink at him in shock. 

"School?" He nods. "How old is Rebecca?"

Another shrug of his shoulders. "She's in twelfth grade."

Twelfth grade. Does that mean she's 18? Luke says that Rebecca has been helping for a few years now, since before he was in school. How old was she when she first started coming here? 

Luke's father was only 32, not that old, but definitely too old to be in a relationship with someone of Rebecca's age since she's only in _high school._

You reach forward and delicately put your hand on Luke's, watching as he slowly lifts his eyes to look at your own, sad and droopy. You want to hug him, reassure him that everything will be okay, but one look at this child and you can tell that anything more than touching his hand and he'll withdraw so far into himself he won't speak another word to you. 

"Thank you very much for telling me that, Luke. I want you to know that I think you're very strong."

He blinks at you and looks back down to the ground, but his shoulders loosen just the smallest amount. 

You stand and give him one last reassuring smile before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind you. Blanc and Louie are waiting in the hallway, not saying a word as they were probably trying to eavesdrop. Both of them look up at you expectantly, and you let out a large sigh. 

"You need to look into a Rebecca, she was Luke's babysitter. I think there was something more than a platonic relationship between her and his father."

"He has a babysitter?"

You nod. "But he said that she was mainly here for his father than him." You can't help but scowl as you cross your arms over your chest. "How can someone just ignore their child like that?"

Blanc frowns, obviously picking up on your anger. "Do you think there was always an ulterior motive to hiring a babysitter in the first place?"

You shake your head. "No, I think she was really hired for Luke at the beginning. She was probably a little older than he is now when she first started, but he said she's a senior in high school. _A senior._ It couldn't have been legal if they were in a relationship." You throw your hand back in Luke's direction, feeling your anger start to bubble. "And look at his room!"

Louie looks over your shoulder. "What about it?"

_"That_ is no room for a ten-year-old boy. It's barely bigger than my closet. You mean to tell me there aren't any other rooms in this house that he could have had his son stay in, nothing that would feel a little homier? There's not _one_ comfort item in there. Nothing. It's a prison cell."

Louie runs a hand over his chin in thought. He nods at the two of you before pulling out his phone. "I'll do some digging on this Rebecca and give you all a call later." He points his phone at you. "Thank you for your assistance, Dr. L/N." He claps Blanc on the shoulder. "Benny."

You and Blanc trail after Louie and out of the house, away from the crime scene. Instead of exiting the same way you originally came in, he leads you around the back of the house to his car. Considering Marta just dropped you off here after your impromptu lunch, he's your only way of getting home. 

"Great job as always, Y/N." He says as he walks around the side of his car and holds the passenger door open for you. He presses a kiss to your temple as you slide into the seat. He moves around the front and gets behind the wheel, turning the car on and driving away from the scene behind you. 

"What?" Blanc asks after a few minutes of silence pass by. You've been staring out the window, unsure of where to place your thoughts. 

"Kids...working with kids and seeing the trauma they've been through has always been harder on me than adult trauma."

Blanc nods. "I would imagine it would be for most people. It's the way that you handle the trauma that truly decides how it affects you."

You turn your head on the seat and watch as he drives for a few moments, his attention fixed on the road in front of him. A smile slowly starts to spread across his face, and even from the side, you can see the amusement in his blue eyes. 

"I've heard that if you take a picture it will last longer."

"It'll never last long enough."

He does glance at you when you say that, his expression soft. He reaches over with his right hand and places it on your knee, squeezing it gently. He leaves you to your thoughts for the rest of the ride home, but you feel a little lighter than you did before. 

* * *

A tiny meow greets you when you unlock the front door. You crouch down and coo at the orange tabby that stalks up to you, tail curled in happiness at your arrival. 

"There's my little baby," you reach forward and scratch underneath his chin, smiling as he leans into it and starts to purr. "Hope you weren't too bored while we were gone, Mango."

"Suppose we should be happy that he prefers being an inside cat rather than venturing outside." He watches as you fawn over the feline, raising a brow. "However, given how you spoil him I'm not _that_ surprised."

"Don't act like you don't also spoil him," you retort as you give one last scratch before standing back up. You toss your purse onto the table by the door and kick off your heels, loving the instant relief it brings to your arches. Blanc also toes off his shoes as he shrugs his overcoat off before hanging it on the hook. 

"Remember not to make any plans for next week, we have that dinner reservation next Tuesday," he calls back to you as he struts into the kitchen. You let out a breath as you remember him telling you about it a week ago. It's as though he can sense your hesitance as he asks, "What?"

"Nothing. It's just that...today has been...I don't want to say exhausting, but it's definitely been filled with a lot."

He hums, and you walk into the kitchen to find him already boiling a kettle of water to make tea for the two of you. "Yes, I would say that's a rather astute observation."

You slide into one of the stools of your rather spacious kitchen counter. "I know it's impossible to protect all the children in the world, but for some reason, it's just hard for me to understand that there are people out there who would neglect someone like that. Someone that they made, that they gave life to."

Blanc glances at you over his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you've seen such troubles."

You drag your finger along the counter. "I'm more sorry that those kids have gone through what they have."

Blanc leans against the counter beside the stove. He folds his arms over his chest and looks at you with a question in his eyes. He takes a breath like he's going to say something and then stops. You tilt your head to the side, sizing him up. 

"What?"

He rolls the question around in his mouth before voicing it. "Would you...Well, have you ever thought of having children yourself?"

You blink at him. "I-yes. I would love to have children."

He smiles, and it takes your breath away just how sweet it is. You smile in return, unable to stop yourself. 

"What about you?"

He shrugs, though the smile is still on his face. "Hazard of my occupation, I would say. Never had the time to think of such a thing, though now..." He trails off, leaving it open to interpretation. 

He's letting you know that if you wanted, he would have children. The simple idea of having a little detective blanc running around the house makes you happier than he could ever possibly understand. 

"Okay," you say quietly, certain you're still grinning at him like an idiot. 

He dips his head once, also smiling. "Okay."

The house, though smaller than Harlan's home, was more than big enough for you. It didn't take very long for you to find some furniture that you thought would be perfect for it and give it that special homey feeling, something you were never able to do in your old apartment. Having Marta, Alice, Mrs. Cabrera, and Blanc give their input on the choices as well also help you along. 

When you first moved in, it felt too big. So you decided to get a cat. Adopting Mango from the shelter was the easiest thing you've ever done, besides deciding to be friends with Marta. The way that he instantly snuggled into your lap and started to purr sealed your fates forever and he went home with you the same day. 

Even with Mango living there with you, and Blanc practically spending most of his time there, it still felt like it was missing...something. 

Three months after you had moved in and also started working on your master's degree, Blanc finally accepted your subtle to have him move in with you. You didn't have to twist his arm at all, and for that you were thankful. You would have pestered him if you didn't want to seem too clingy. 

But judging by the way he has to be touching you in some way at most times of the day and refuses to let you sleep anywhere other than in his arms, you began to realize that it wasn't _yourself_ who should have been worried about coming off too clingy. 

But _damn_ if you don't love it. Feeling wanted? Feeling _needed?_ There's no way to describe it, and you find you never want it to end. 

He brings you a mug of your favorite tea, sliding it across the counter from you as he blows on his own, cooling it a little bit before taking a sip. You're happy to say that you've started switching Blanc from coffee to tea. He doesn't even buy beans anymore, just making sure your reserves of tea bags are never close to empty. 

Just the reminder that he does something like that is enough to warm you more than the hot drink in your hands. 

"So for this dinner...are we dressing up, or is it casual?"

He shrugs. "Whatever you desire."

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes. "Benoit, we've been over this. You need to start _telling_ me if I need to dress up or not--"

His chuckle stops your mini-rant before it even really has a chance to start. "I would wear a dress, Sweetheart. And perhaps those black heels you have in your closet."

You raise a brow. Blanc _loves_ those heels, for more than one reason. They make you look great, yes, but he particularly loves when you wear those heels and nothing else. Judging by the smirk that he tries (and fails) to hide, he knows exactly where your train of thought has gone. Cheeky bastard. 

"Okay," you say, taking a sip and closing your eyes at the warm feeling that goes down your throat and settles in your stomach. "So we're _really_ dressing up, I guess."

"Hm, yes," he says lowly, stepping around the counter and over until he's standing in front of you. He tips your face up with one finger under your chin as he glances down at your lips with hooded eyes. "And I look forward to taking it all off later."

"You haven't even seen me in it yet!"

"That's the best part," he smiles, finally moving forward and pressing his lips to your own, "I can just imagine how _delectable_ you'll look."

You blush but smile against his kiss, returning it with the same passion. He pulls back, giving you two more parting kisses before straightening. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, a promise of _later_ in his grin. The shiver that races down your spine isn't from the cold, that's for certain. 

* * *

The week passes quickly. After the information you got from Luke, Louie was able to track down Rebecca, who indeed isn't yet 18. She was devastated to find out that Luke's father had died, but even more so when Blanc discovered that her own _father_ had been the one to kill him and make it look like it was an accident. When he discovered what the man whose child she was just supposed to be babysitting had been doing to her, it had been too much. So he killed him. You felt bad for her, she obviously harbored feelings for the man, but she's too young to see she was being groomed. That man took advantage of her. 

Her father is in jail until his court date, but you already have an idea of how it's going to go. It was first-degree murder. People charged with that never get happy endings. 

You have the first-hand experience with that. And _that_ person is living the rest of his miserable life in a maximum high-security prison with other low-lives just like him, never to enjoy the pleasures of life ever again. Just what he deserves. 

And Luke, bless his tiny soul, is now living with his aunt and uncle a few states away with his cousin who is only a few years younger than him. Judging by the way the child was excited to see them, you get the feeling that he'll be much happier there than he ever was with his father. 

Though there was no way that Blanc could have known how the week would go, this dinner seems like the perfect thing to turn everything back onto a positive note. Your friends are meeting you there, and you're looking forward to just enjoying each others' company and sharing a laugh. 

And so when you get to the restaurant--Finelli's, the very same place that Blanc took you out to on your first 'official' date two years ago--everyone is already there waiting for the two of you. You did listen to Blanc's suggestion when it came to what to wear--a nice black dress with a low cut that goes just below your knees, and of _course_ his favorite heels. He openly stared at your legs as you walked down the stairs back home, and the hungry look in his eyes made you all the more eager to get through the dinner so you could have him to _yourself._

Judging by the way he gripped your leg as he drove to the restaurant, you get the idea he had the same exact thought as you. 

He wore a nice black suit, just a tad more dressed up than he normally is. You're not sure what you like more: his work attire, when he's got his sleeves rolled up his arms and his hair standing on end from running his hands through it in thought, his casual attire, when he's wearing sweatpants and a simple shirt that stretches across his strong chest and is _perfect_ for snuggling into, or when he's dressed just like this. Sharp and the most handsome man you've ever seen on the planet. All of them are perfect.

You go up to your friends and say hello, hugging Marta first, squeezing her tight, and laughing as she does the same. You greet her sister and mother in a similar fashion, happy to see that Alice has come home to visit for a while from college. 

You hug Joshua as well, giving him a fond kiss on the cheek before he goes back to Marta's side and slips his hand around her waist. Louie and his wife are next, both of them looking more casual than you've seen in a long time. The first time you met Louie's wife, Dara, was interesting, and you were surprised when you found out she was the opposite of Blanc's personality--loud, strong-willed, and extremely extroverted. Watching the two of them together, it's easy to see that they're a _perfect_ match. 

Angelo and his wife, Loraine, are there once again to greet all of you and bring you to your table. It's off to the side and has more privacy than the other tables in this busy restaurant are afforded--a plus, you suppose, of being friends with the owner. 

You all sit and order your food, making conversation about different things. Joshua talks about his promotion at work. He's excited about more action, but not the paperwork that's going to come along with it. Marta just recently finished getting a local care home renovated and discusses what the owners were saying about her donations. 

Louie and Blanc, naturally, talk about the case with Luke's father. While they talk about that, you engage in conversation with Dara and Marta, asking about how their weeks have been. Dara, being a lawyer herself, talks about how this case she's working on now requires her to work with a colleague that she can't stand. You and Marta laugh as she goes on to describe how horrible this woman is. 

Alice talks about how her time in college has been, saying that she's happy she got an apartment instead of living in the dorms as whenever she's on campus people usually try to talk to her. She normally wouldn't mind, but she never has time to get anything done. At least with her apartment, she can have some alone time. 

You give her a sympathetic smile. "You'll learn to work with it eventually."

Marta gives her sister a side hug. "I'm sure you already have a plan on how to avoid people. You're smart, Alice, though I hate to admit it."

"Hey!" Alice says though she's smiling. 

You laugh at her, looking over to see their mother watching all of you fondly. You tip your wine at her and wink as you take a sip. The red wine is savory on your tongue and burns in all the right ways. Leave it to Finelli's to only serve the best. 

When the food arrives, conversation slows as you dig in. Comments are made here and there about how good it is, and judging by the pleased expression on Blanc's face you can tell he's happy they enjoy it. This was his own little place before he showed it to me, and now he's opening it up to his friends. He wants them to like it, and anyone with eyes can see that they obviously do. 

"This is nice," you sigh, leaning back in your chair and just slightly into Blanc's side. He stretches his arm out across the back of your chair, his hand resting on your opposite shoulder. You take in your friends enjoying time with each other, the peaceful atmosphere, and just how relaxed you feel. "I never would have thought I'd be here, at this moment."

Blanc rubs his chin in thought, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "But you're happy?"

You give him a confused smile. "Of course I'm happy. I've never been happier, Benoit."

He smiles. "Good, that's what I wanted to hear."

He removes his arm from your back and sits up, adjusting his coat. You take your wine and slowly sip it as you watch him curiously. He stands up and everyone at the table falls silent, their words hanging in the air. 

"It's truly nice to have all of our dear friends gathered here tonight. I know that with busy schedules and such it's rare for such a thing to happen, but it's awful nice when it does." There are murmurs of agreement from the others. "But I must confess that there was another reason that I wanted you all to come here tonight."

You place your wine back on the table as you frown slightly, wondering what it is that Blanc is going on about. He told you this was just a break--just some time to spend with friends. What else could he have planned?

He reaches into his inside coat pocket and pulls out a tiny black box. Your breath stutters and your heart leaps into your throat as he gets down on one knee in front of you, blue eyes shining bright in the light of the restaurant as he takes one of your hands in his own. Your free hand covers your gasp as he looks up at you lovingly. 

"Y/N, Sweetheart," he starts quietly, and you barely notice that a hush has also fallen over the rest of the restaurant, "you shifted my center of gravity the moment I first saw you. Your courage, compassion, intelligence, and overall beauty has made me want to be a better contributor to society, a better man, a better person for _you._ I fear I may never be truly worthy, but if you give me the chance," he opens the box in his other hand, revealing a beautiful ring with a simple yet elegantly cut diamond resting in the middle, "I will spend the rest of my life trying to be that man."

Your eyes start to burn as you feel the tears build up. "Benoit..."

"So, Dr. Y/N L/N, will you do me the honor of accepting my offer and becoming my wife?"

You don't even have to think over his question. Your head is nodding before you manage to speak the words, and people around the restaurant start clapping. 

"Yes, _yes,"_ you gasp, letting the tears fall down the sides of your face as you lean forward and cup his face, tugging it towards you so that you can show him how much you love him with a kiss. He slides one hand around to the nape of your neck while the other clutches the ring tightly. He smiles against your lips, pulling back enough to press his forehead against your own while the people in the restaurant, your friends included, cheer and whistle at your acceptance. 

"I love you," you say shakily, overcome with emotion. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and kisses you again, softly, lovingly. He takes your left hand and steadies it with his strong grip, lifting it and also pressing his lips to your knuckles before sliding the ring onto your finger. It's a perfect fit. 

"I'm the luckiest girl on the planet," you say gently, standing and wrapping your arms around his waist while he does the same with you. He tilts your chin up and gazes down at you, his eyes tender with affection. 

"My dear girl," he murmurs, leaning down slowly as his lips creep to yours once more, uncaring of the people watching us right now, "I believe it is I who am the lucky one."

And as he presses his lips to yours in another kiss, you know this is the happiest moment of your life. 

And you know that now that you're going to be spending the rest of your life with Blanc, it's only going to get better. 


End file.
